Arm: ::sigh:: Being at our dad's house and getting ideas for stories one after another isn't fun... And since Leg decided to take a break from writing... Well, this story is all mine. ::grins evilly:: I don't own Dib or any other mentioned characters.
My mom wasn't the type of mom most people would expect her to be. She wasn't kind, caring, loving, or even remotely ready to be a mother when she had me. She never loved my father. She never loved me. She never loved my sister. She hated the three of us, and she left us when she had the first opportunity. She has made a drastic imprint on my life when she was there and when she left. My mom has made me who I am today, and this essay is the story on how that happened.
My mom told me to be myself and don't bother with the crap I have to deal with in skool, when she was drunk. That was the best piece of advice I ever got from her, if I got any at all. My mom was an alcoholic, if you hadn't gotten the idea already, that or she was high on crack. She taught me without trying to stay away from drugs and alcohol, another great lesson I learned from her. Even though she never meant to teach it to me or my sister, we learned the dangers of drinking and doing drugs anyway.
When my mother left, I learned that people aren't always what you expect them to be. I always thought that she would change and become the world's best mom. I got screwed like most kids these days. Now I have to live with a father who barely pays attention to me or my sister, but at least he treats us better than my mom ever did. Though, my mom did have some part to do in my interest in the paranormal. She told me stories of aliens and abductions when I was young, trying to scare me the whole time. Instead I became interested in it, so her plan backfired on her.
So maybe I don't have the family everyone thinks I have. Who cares? My mom isn't here to abuse me and my sister anymore, my dad at least notices that we exist every once in a while, and my sister and I have learned a few good lessons in life. I'm probably more ready for the real world than anyone else in our class, and I have to thank my parents for that. I'm still upset that my mother is gone from my life, but I respect her for leaving us. She left me a note when she left, saying that she was "sorry for not being a mother, and maybe if I leave you'll have a better life." Well, mom, guess what, I have a better life now.
If I were to ever see my mother again, I would only have this to say to her: "Thank you for helping me become who I am today." Because, in all reality, she did help me, she did do a "motherly" thing, and all while she was either drunk or high. So maybe she wasn't the world's best mom, but she will always be my mother, and I have grown to accept all that she did wrong and what little she did right.
Dib sighed as he looked over his essay. It was all the truth, not one bit of it did he put a lie to help glamorize his mother. He was proud of himself. He knew he wouldn't get a good grade for it, but at least he felt better for writing something that was the truth. He handed the paper to Miss Martello, his seventh grade English teacher, and walked back to his desk.
Dib glanced at the empty desk in front of him. Zim had been out sick for a little less than a week now. The two had become friends after some mutual understanding they had. Oh well. He waited for the class to end.
The next day Dib walked into his English class, and was greeted with a small smile from Miss Martello. He waited for her usual talks about what they were going to do that day.
"All right people, settle. I read all your essays, and to tell you the truth, I was disappointed in most of you. None of you lived up to your potential. For that, I didn't grade your essays. For those of you who were out, you won't have to do it," Miss Martello glanced at Zim, who had just walked in the door with a late pass.
"But, there was one essay in which I enjoyed. It wasn't the usual cutesy stuff most of you did. Like this one piece of work for example," she pulled out a paper. " 'My mother gave me everything I ever wanted, ever since I was little. She always helped me and helped me with my homework,' Now c'mon people, that sounds like a third grader wrote it! I'm supposed to teach you all seventh grade English, and you come in here and write as if you were in third grade! I'm tellin' ya, you all better get your acts together before eighth grade or you'll be dead on the state tests," Miss Martello ranted.
"But for the writer of the essay that told everything the way life is for some, I congratulate you for being yourself. I am posting a copy of it, without your name, and the board for all to read. I wish that some of you will read it, so that you all can get an idea on what a five on the standard state tests would be like. Now, grab your Lit. books and turn to page 187...."
Dib was shocked. That couldn't be his essay she was talking about, could it? He paid little attention to what Miss Martello was saying and waited for the end of the class. He had to read that essay, to see if it was his she was talking about. When class did finally end, the whole class crowded around the essay, saying that Alicia couldn't have written it, because it wasn't her hand-writing. Dib glanced at the hand writing and knew it was his.
"Nice essay, Dib, it explains what happened to your mother," Zim whispered in his ear.
"Thanks," Dib muttered as he turned to Zim. "So why were you out all week anyway?" Dib asked.
"I was sick with the flu," Zim answered. Dib gave him a skeptic look. "I really was!" Zim protested. And the two walked off to endure science class with Miss Green, the most boring teacher in the world.
Arm: Short, simple, and very to the point. I like it, what about you? Please tell me what you thought! Please? Especially since ff.n was down for a while?