My Innocent Perception

My innocent perception was that she managed everything alone successfully to a superlative degree, because of course, she was my mother, the most extraordinarily capable person ever. After I did some growing up, it came to my attention that this was not entirely true. In my own insolence, I did not allow myself to observe the full picture. In all actuality, my mother barely had enough time to do anything other than work and take care of all seven of us. In addition, she was barely scraping by trying to support all of us and herself financially. With bills, student loans,other debts, gas, and all of us to provide for, she simply could not pay for everything. Usually, we did not have enough money for all utilities and subsequently, she could
Warm hands enveloped hers as she began to regain control of herself, and he edged her down in the nearest blue, plastic chair sat before her. He looked at her with his amiable, cerulean eyes, lined with crows feet and wrinkles of time, he told her definitively, “I will take care of it.” With two long strides, he left her stupefied in the empty lounge, vague beeping sounds from the microwave across the room on the counter bringing her back to reality. Unbeknownst to my mother, other coworking friends became discreetly notified, and the next day, one hospitable man approached me. Strangely enough, he had observed my family members and me when we were out playing and while we were in class. This man had also asked other staff members what we were like. The following Tuesday, during my afternoon recess, this man known as Mr. Schram, an educator on campus, approached my hyperactive self and gingerly knelt before me near the small wrought iron gate in a pile of wood chips. I had never seen a grown up look so vulnerable and small like me before, so, confused, I stood before him and watched as he stared at my lilliputian frame and grubby
From the other side of the room, after putting her things down on the table, my mother curiously shuffled back over to the appliance and opened up the door. Perplexed, she glanced around until she spied two full jugs of whole milk on the second shelf down with a sticky note on them reading Mrs. Hughes’s. Disbelieving his magnanimity, covering her now oval shaped mouth. she slowly turned around to find Mr. Schram leaning against the exit. Eyes twinkling, he interrupted her immediate protests by exclaiming firmly, “This is not a gift or expensive purchase, I am merely a man of my word. Please take your milk.” Disappearing through the exit door, he left my mother with the two corpulent jugs of milk, a luxury we could not afford at the time. Visiting me again later that same day, Mr. Schram strolled next to me as I skipped excitedly to the lunchroom. Casually, he looked down at me and asked, “Are you eating lunch today?” to which I expressed exuberantly, “Yup!” I embellished, “My sister saved up enough pennies to buy a plate for all of us today! I’m hoping to get some milk, I’m thirsty.” With uncertainty, he inquired, “ I bet you haven’t had milk in a while,” and I nodded excessively in anticipation. Suddenly, he grabbed my shoulders and became level with me, making me