I realize that Mother’s Day was yesterday. I didn’t actually realize that until last night though. I say this even though I saw all over on Facebook that people were discussing Mother’s Day and I just figured they were getting it done early as so they wouldn’t forget. For some reason, Mother’s day, Easter, and those are probably the only two, seem to be Sunday holidays. Just like Thanksgiving is always Thursday, Christmas is always who cares it’s Christmas, and Halloween should always be a Friday night. If elected to President in 2028, you have my word that I will make all those dreams come true. I have no other campaign promises yet. But Mother’s Day though, people from time to time ask me what inspired me to come here. Why I’m here? What am I doing? How did I get this life? I did write a pretty long response to that and sent it out to a couple of people but I’m not going to publish that here. It had some harsh language and some things I spoke in there were a bit too personal for me to expose to the general public. What it all comes down to though? Mothers. And fathers. Family in general. Consider this like a joint post for both mother and father’s day because I’ll still be abroad when that day falls upon me as well. One of my problems with depression, or rather my own depression, is that I always thought my reasoning for it wasn’t good enough. I was ashamed that it all started, or the straw that broke the camel’s back (Africa reference!), the catalyst, could all be traced back to a break up. Surely it wasn’t all that and I would never blame the depression on a singular issue. I am just thankful that throughout the whole experience I’ve gone through, the whole endeavor, good and bad, I had a very support, caring family to be there for me the whole ride. The whole ride in which I wasn’t very forthcoming when any of my feelings at all, where I kept the majority of my feelings inside, where I cut myself off from communication and just had a silent struggle alone. Why I’m here is because I had people who were there for me the whole time and didn’t quit on me when I might have quit on everyone. I would have understood people having given up on me after I gave up on everyone else and especially when I’d never speak of any feelings, I would never blame them. My family never did though, my parents especially. At times I told myself that they only didn’t because I was their only child and the next best thing they had to expect a legacy from was a pug. I am of the notion now that that’s a preposterous idea and I think that’s a horrible assumption of any parents that they’ll give up on one child because they have another to succeed and they can essentially forget about the other one. I think I just told myself that when I was down in the dumps because I wanted to convince myself that there was some ulterior motive to their support of me other than altruistic love. That was dumb. It’s not true. Well, it could be true for some families but I am pretty confident that even if I was one of ten children my parents would treat me just as well as they have throughout this ordeal. Mothers though, this is about mothers. Nothing I like better than speaking about mothers because it’ll let me completely a butcher about mothers from Islam. Don’t let my bastardization of the story turn you off from it though. Crap, now that I wrote about my butchering/bastardization so much I’m already forgetting the story itself, I turned off my own knowledge of the tale. It was just a man asking Muhammad about the most important people e in life after God, or who you should put on your pedestal after God, and Muhammad said your mother, then the man asked again and Muhammad responded your mother, then the third time and the answer was your mother, only until the fourth time where he said your father. Muhammad, Islam, and probably countless other religions do stress the importance of the mother and for good reason. As they’ve said, and much as we seem to take for granted, is that these women birthed you over a nine month period, and then spent the next eighteen years of their lives, no, eighteen isn’t a fair representation with it being too low, spent the rest of their lives raising you, caring for you, nurturing you, and helping mold you hopefully into a great person. Of course not all mothers are like this, some aren’t ideal, some are toxic, not everyone is perfect, and even the perfect ones have their downtime. I’m not speaking for all mothers though, I’m more speaking of the idealized mother, but I’m also speaking of my mother. It’s not just anyone that will help and support sending their only son on a seven month journey abroad hoping to help them find their selves, to find their passion, to grow as a person. I wouldn’t be here without the love and support of my family as I constantly say, that I’m here because they backed up through thick and thin and now I finally do find myself in a good, happier place and I’m forever grateful for them. Because as I also keep mentioning, I gave up on myself, but they never did. Happy Mother’s Day. Happy Father’s Day. A day late, a month early, it doesn’t matter. I’m always happy to have them in my life. So it goes.

Edit: Apparently Mother’s Day wasn’t yesterday. It is today. It actually is always on Sunday. That makes sense why I always thought it was on a Sunday too. Is Thanksgiving always on a Thursday? I really should not have said these would be my campaign promises as your late 2020’s president. Well, with that said, the first couple hundred words of my blog post are completely irrelevant. Regardless, I think the message still stands. I was confused. I am sorry to all the people who look to this blog as the final word on where holidays stand. What’s coming up next? Memorial Day? Usually is on a Monday isn’t it? Is it always on a Monday? Don’t ask me.