Sometimes my life as a child was a sad Hallmark movie. On one of those evenings where the weather was perfect, the breeze wasn’t too harsh, the clouds spread miles outward, and the atmosphere was a beautiful blue tint, my mother and I were the only ones home. She went to the bathroom to shower as I sat in the living room playing Nickelodeon games on my computer. Thirty minutes had gone by, and I was starting to get bored. I stood up from the little chair and knocked on the bathroom door to ask my mom if I could go to my friend’s house, who was our neighbor. 

I walked to the bathroom barefoot, my feet slapping the cold tiles in the hallway. I reached the door and knocked, but no one said anything. I assumed she didn’t hear me because of the loudness of the shower, so I lay down to speak into the bottom crack of the door. I could feel steam from the hot water brush against my face. Hesitantly, I asked, “Can I go to Farooq’s house for a little?” but she didn’t answer; I lay there just a bit longer and asked again, “Can I?” I noticed my mother’s feet at the foot of the bathtub facing the door; I wondered why she was sitting there anyway? But I didn’t think much of it. 

All I wanted to do was go to my friend’s house. I reached up and knocked on the bathroom again, but there was still no answer. I heard sniffling as I was about to get up and head back to the living room. I thought, Is she crying in the bathroom? I sat down to peek under the door and see if she was alright. My chest pressed firmly against the ground, eyes squinting; I could feel the cold tile floor against my legs. I began questioning everything. What happened? Did I do something to make her sad? Did she get hurt in there? I lay in confusion and was too scared to ask her what was wrong because my parents were never great at expressing how they felt, which led to everyone in my house never talking about their feelings. Hence, I felt like i was invading her privacy. 

I crouched up, the hard floor pressing against my knees, and walked to my room.

I  shut the door quietly behind me and sat at the corner of my bed. This was the first time I caught my mom crying secretly; there must have been something wrong. I began overthinking like crazy. An hour went by, and I finally heard the tub faucet squeak shut. My mom stepped out and walked to her room, and I could hear the sound of her shower sandals fading away. The smell of her shampoo crept in from the crack of my door because of the closeness of my room and the steam from the shower.

 By this time, it was already getting late, so I just decided to stay in bed. I wrapped my warm blanket around myself and pushed my head against my pillow. I felt unfortunate. I had no lamp, so I got up and opened my door a bit to let some light in. I remember the beams of soft yellow light from the hallway, causing a faint and gloomy feeling in my room. Everything felt ten times sadder than normal.

I woke up the following day, my younger brother snoring loudly in his bed above mine. As I rose to head to the bathroom, I still felt bothered. My mother was in the kitchen washing the dishes to prepare breakfast with a smile on her face like nothing had happened. I didn’t confront her. I just wanted to forget the evening before, but I felt as if I were carrying a heavy weight. Later in the day, my brother and I were sitting in our room, and I listened to him talk about a kid in the neighborhood that wanted to fight him. I felt the urge to interrupt him and tell him mom was crying last night, but I couldn’t bring it up. He kept rambling on and on while I sat there in my thoughts. I worried a lot as a kid; something as simple as rolling your eyes at me was enough to send me spiraling.

If I were in the position of a parent, I would want to teach my kids communicating and expressing our feelings at a young age. Children take on the habits of their parents when it comes time for them to have children. Communicating with children is essential because it creates a special bond between parent and child and makes the child feel included in the family.

 My parents used to hide stuff from my brother and me all the time, making us feel left out. Expressing your feelings is a definite form of communication, but communication goes deeper than that. Growing up, I was always considered an easy child because I did what I was told without asking questions and never complained or voiced what I needed. Staying quiet and bottling up my emotions became a  regular habit for me. Children should be able to approach their parents for anything. As parents, it is our job to fulfill the needs of our kids and make them feel comfortable. I became an observant kid. I noticed that many foreign parents lack proper communication skills due to their own parents’ lack of communication skills. 

When children hit puberty, opening up can be extremely difficult or too late to voice their needs if they haven’t been appropriately met. A situation that led me to this belief is that I had already lost all hope in trying to open up to my parents when I was hitting puberty. Contrary to my opinion, many people argue that the parent is always right and the child is wrong because the parent is the “Boss” and has more experience. I do not agree with that argument because the relationship between child and parent should not be a power dynamic but a partnership. When children are born, they aren't here to serve and listen to every word their parents say. They are meant to be brought up so that they may become their own people and make the best possible decisions for themselves once they get older.