Brown Boxes

I graduated from high school as one of those kids that represented their school well. As I received medal after medal on stage, my mother stood next to me crying while mumbling how proud she was to be my mother. This was her moment, not mine.

A few weeks later she packed my father’s clothes while he was away on a business trip, placed them in 3 large brown boxes and dumped them in front of his office building with his name on it. When I found out and questioned her reasons, I found everything that once filled up my bedroom in a few brown boxes outside of our house.

There was no need to put my name on them.