Thanks for Being Overprotective

February 18, 2011
By , Los Angeles, CA
As an eleven year-old, life seemed to be calm, until the day I messed up and things started to change. I arrived home when the red luminous sun was setting. I walked up the two flights of stairs to get to my apartment. As soon as I walked in my house, I went into the living room. The bright white sofa sat there alone, watching the old black TV screen, playing the Channel 34 News a 5 o’clock.

I calmly threw my backpack on my old worn out-bed and as soon as I walked out of my room, my mom came thundering at me. Boom! Boom! I said to myself, “Oh no! I’m in big trouble now!”

She roared, “Where have you been?!?”

I remained in shock at the image of my mom standing in the middle of the room. It all looked like a thousand of years had passed. The man from the painting hanging on the wall stared at me stoically as if saying, “You’re gonna get it now!”

I looked into my mom’s sweet caramel eyes, but as she started to scream they turn red with anger and fear. Fear of me falling into a life full of gang-bangers and problems.

“I was at school,” I declared.

“What are you doing at school this late?”, she asked with a snare.

“I was playing soccer with my friends in the field, Ma!” I exclaimed..

As soon as I told her that, I instantly knew she didn’t believe me. The fact that she didn’t
believe me made me feel that there was no trsut between my mom and I. I kept trying to explain and convince her that I wasn’t doing nothing bad for the next 4 hours. My mom went into her room and she didn’t come out until my dad came home.

“Are you saying the truth mijo?” whimpered my dad .

My mom had already told my dad about me coming home late.

“Yeah, I’m saying the truth,” I replied with an anxious voice.

“I hope your telling me the truth because if you’re not, you know what happens!” my dad told me loudly.

That was the last thing I heard from my mom or my dad that day. The next morning, I woke up to go to school. When I entered the kitchen, it seemed like a deep well with no sound. I expected to see my breakfast, served and ready for me to eat, but this time it wasn’t there. As I saw the empty table, I figured my mom was still mad at me so I left to school. As a matter of fact, the next few days were the same, my mom not talking to me, not serving me breakfast, but most of all not showing any sign of forgiveness. I thought to myself, “Why can’t she believe that I’m telling the truth?”

On Friday morning of that same week, my dad told me something I knew was going to come.

“Just to make your mom feel more confident about you, I’m going to your school later on to talk
to your friends and ask them if you were actually there to make sure you’re not lying to us,” he told me.
The clocked ticked 3:32 p.m. and the bells went off in the new neighborhood school, John Liechty Middle School. Immediately, the halls began to fill with kids from all races. As I traversed my way through the halls, I took a quick glimpse behind me and there I saw the shy, pretty, girl who always stared at me through 8th period (my future girlfriend). She gave me a nice quick smile and I smiled back. After that, I walked to the glass doors and there I saw my dad waiting for me.

“Are you ready to go look for your friends?” asked my dad humbly.

In short time, my dad and I walked to the hot, green, field. We went through the gate and walked towards my friends. My dad called them up and asked them, “Was Jose here playing with you guys on Monday after school?”

“Yes,” they replied in a chorus.

Mr. Adams, one of the SRLA coaches heard what my dad was asking my friends. For this reason, he came toward my dad and me.

“Sir, I’m sorry to get into this, but I saw your son here playing soccer on Monday,” interrupted Mr. Adams with a soothing voice. Then he went running around the soccer field like a crazy person. He was training for the big L.A. marathon in March. I had planned to join SRLA too, but I didn’t.
All of a sudden, Mr. Adams and my dad went to talk for a while. While they went to talk in the red benches my friends started playing again and I joined in. After a while, they came back and my dad told me that I had to go home.

“Mijo, next time you want to stay and play with your friends call us so we won’t be worrying!” exclaimed my dad with a look that made me think he was saying, “I’m counting on you.”

My dad left for work after he finished investigating me. When I arrived home, the first thing my mom did was run to me and hug me.

“Sorry for not believing you, mijo,” she told me with tears running down her face.

“It’s alright, I knew you would have to believe me sooner or later,” I replied.
From that day on, my parents have shown more confidence in me. We should all learn from this experience not to make our parents worry about us. We should inform our parents where we are. I am actually thankful for having protective parents. Our parents make a big deal out of everything because they care about us and they know what kind of dangers are out on the streets. Our parents want the best for us. They know the dangers of the world and they want to protect us from it. Next time your parents get mad at you for coming home late, don’t get mad. get gleeful because your parents love you!





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