Freshly Brewed Bits

Mother of all Pyramids

           No matter what sort of cards you're dealt in life, a mother's impact will be no less than profoundly altering. Whether one is a maternal carbon copy or has never even met their mom, no soul is ever left untouched. 

          Luckily for me, I seem to have been dealt a royal flush of a woman- a chronic conspiracy theorist with whom I humbly boast the bond to end all bonds. You see, my mom and I share something deeper than any love the world has seen. We share in something more valuable than time and more real than genetic material.

          We share, of course, the knowledge of who really built the pyramids.

           I grew up in a place where the truth had nowhere to hide. Nine years of my childhood were spent at Oceanview Apartments, the home of two meth lab explosions, a crackhead with a room full of birds, and a hole in the brick wall where a drunk man must've severely missed his parking spot. Although not a soul told the police about the meth lab, my mom was always completely honest with me. This fostered in me an inherent aversion to holding my tongue as well as a perpetual search for the truth within every arena of life.

          To this day, party lines, biases, and people's feelings mean little to me compared to the supreme doctrines of truth and justice. Well, that's not true, I still very much care about the feelings of others, but you know what I mean. If something needs to be heard, come find me and it will be said. In seeking out the origins and development of my ideology, I found there was no mistaking my mother's imperative role in facilitating my personal quest for veracity. 

          As far back as I can remember, my mom has never permitted me to let a norm pass by unquestioned. In the sixth grade, I finally mustered the courage to tell her I didn't believe in God and, let me tell you, "pride" is not strong enough to describe her excitement over my unassisted contriving of opinion. That Christian woman patted my Agnostic back for days on end. I was never so proud to be a Bible Belt outcast. My mom, however, has renounced her Christian faith since then and I've renounced my total lack of one. Common ground was found to be the belief in God as a simple function of unity- each one of us a small, but an indefinitely critical piece.

          The Dogma of our mutual belief suggests few things but that one should, in every situation, place the happiness of others before their own. I have seen the world through the lens of a conspiracy and the lens of an unbiased observer while my mom held my hand through the whole of it. 

          By some miracle, I've not once conned myself into thinking her to be perfection. I would be lying, however, if I said I didn't feel she deserves happiness more than any other person I've come across. My mother gave me life in more ways than one and I know that her happiness would come before mine no matter what philosophy I'd decided to adhere to.

          Mom once read a book that led her to believe aliens built the pyramids. Evidence suggests that it would've been quite impossible for the Egyptians to do so, but the truth is not always so set in stone. We go through life with biases and blind spots, we underestimate and miscalculate. 

          Only one thing I can say with certainty: no ziggurat, Babylonian garden, excessively long wall, or Pyramid of Giza is so great as the debt I owe my mother. If one day I manage to play my cards just right, there's not a question as to who will get the finest cut of my spoils.

Happy late Mothers Day, momma. You're the bomb-diggity.

Love,
        Your little girl