“Dead Serious” by Peter Tyree Morrison Colwell

“I wish you were always like this,” Mom says.  

“Like what?” I look at the kitchen doorway, but Mom isn’t there.  

I’ve lived with my mom for sixteen years, but I still can’t predict her words or actions.  No one can.  Mom was born a lefty, but my grandmother tried to make her right-handed.  My grandmother’s attempt was among the first of many to change immutable things in my mom.  They all failed.  Mom mounts a hostile resistance to other people’s ideas of what’s right.  

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