My mom doesn’t really care about music.
I personally don’t understand and obviously don’t reciprocate that feeling.
Despite that, she reads this damn blog every single week.
She is by the far the most supportive person in my life and has been that rock since I was born in her place of employment, Saint Francis Hospital, in 1995.
While she doesn’t connect with music the way I do, it’s not because she is apathetic. I don’t really connect with video games or religion; she doesn’t connect with music.
On the contrary, she’s (literally) an award-winning cancer nurse whose tree of mentees grows larger than Mike Krzyzewski’s. The memories and relationships she has made since beginning her career at Saint Francis in 1990 mean so much to her. It seems like every time she and I are somewhere with a large crowd of people in Tulsa, someone approaches her with appreciation or an anecdote about their kid or their sister or their friend. She’s why I’m a teacher–it’s my niche that will ultimately give me a chance to grow my own web. If I mean half as much to people as my mom does, I’ll have done something worthwhile in my life.
But she still doesn’t really care about music.
There’s no way I would be able to feel the way I feel about music if it wasn’t for her.
Anytime I feel emboldened and try something new, it’s because she taught me that’s okay.
Anytime I feel bleh and gray and shitty, her sixth sense kicks in and she sends a Bitmoji, the design of which somehow encompasses every genuinely joyous expression she is seemingly always displaying.
Anytime I fall in love with a song or a band, as has happened more times with the start of this blog than in any other time in my life, it’s because she has showed care for people and their ideas and their emotions and feelings my entire life. I’m so thankful that her empathy rubbed off on me.
And even though she doesn’t really care about music, I sure care about her.
Here’s her favorite song.