Just Like You

I never thought I was like you until I got a little older. I don’t really remember you, all thanks to PTSD. But what I do remember are great times.

You took me on holiday, just us. I remember walking down a cobbled street, to a tiny hut selling cockles and mussels. You poured vinegar over them and we sat eating them with a tiny fork. You bought me a little hairdryer for my hair. You made us cycle 19 miles to see a river.

Mom would always moan about having to walk so far, and I did too. I was only young, with little legs. I didn’t appreciate the beauty that was around us and I certainly didn’t appreciate the time I had with you.

It’s only now, at 32, that I realize I am you. I’ve always been you. I make my 4 year old walk miles, just to see the skyline. Just to see the water’s edge. I get him up at 5AM to make sure we’re the first on the beach. I want to see the world, I want to see what you saw.

I’m stubborn. I want better. I want to learn. I want my child to have everything, experience it all. Just like you did for me.

Thank you for what you taught me. Thank you for what I can teach my child. Thank you for making me just like you.

Categories: Monologues, Poetry

Cheryl James

Hi! I'm a 32 year old single Mom with a penchant for books, plants and anything motivational. You can find me reliving the good old days listening to 00's pop punk, creating tin can art, or watching cartoons with my son.

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