by Gillian Ball

Fiftyshift intern emeritus

Recently, during a momentary lapse of judgment, after a long, tiring day, I made a bold statement.

A statement so bold that once said, could not be forgotten. One that, if uttered in public, could potentially result in widespread panic and whispers of controversy. So bold that it hung over my head for days on end. 

I said, “You were right.”

To my mother.

As a 21-year-old bordering on adulthood, I feel as though I still have some daughter duties to fulfill—defiance, stubbornness, disobedience. You know, the usual. But I was carrying on with my life when out of the blue, those three little words just rolled off of my tongue as if they belonged there or something.

Alas, once said, it couldn’t be taken back.

I thought hard and long about the energy it would take to live the rest of my life trying to deny and forget that statement of mine. But the way it’s looking, it’s just not worth it.

So, Mom, I’m throwing in the towel.

That time you told me to put a coat on because it was cold and I’d freeze?

You were right. It was cold and I froze. 

That time you told me that break-ups were a part of life and he wasn’t the one for me?

You were right. I’ve moved on. And broken up. And moved on. And broken up….

That time you told me to eat healthy and exercise?

You were right.  “Muffin top” now makes me cringe instead of drool.

That time you told me to eat at home instead of spending money on restaurants? 

You were right.  Now I’m broke and would trade in my Ramen noodles for that casserole I complained about any day.

That time you told me not to put compromising photos of myself online?

You were right. Despite my perfect, photographed form, drinking beer upside down out of a keg did not get me hired.

That time you told me that tongue rings are trashy?

You were right. Somehow, an infected tongue and a lisp weren’t so hot after all.

That time you told me that I should always make sure I have gas in the car?

You were right. That walk to the gas station with the red, five-gallon gas can is starting to become a pain in the ass.

That time you told me that getting drunk isn’t always attractive?

You were right. I’ve seen the pictures. And as it turns out, social drinking IS a real thing after all.

That time you told me that everyone should own a pair of black dress pants? 

You were right. I swear my interviewer never took her eyes off my jeans. Except, of course, to brush me off with a “we’ll call you.”

That time you told me to get off my butt and spend my summers outside while I still could?

You were right. I’m convinced the more I stare at the sun from my cubicle 40 hours a week, the paler I get.

That time you told me not to leave all the lights on because it wastes electricity?

You were right. Since I started paying my own bills, I’ve pretty much been sitting in the dark. 

And that time you told me that one day I’d (have the world as I knew it come to a crashing halt, find myself not knowing up from down and feel robbed of the tail end of my daughterly duties) realize that you were right?

Well, Mom, you were right.