Journal #1

How many more miles? My Mother inquired, anxiously tucking a lock of

bleached hair behind her ear. I glanced down at my phone.
One more mom I replied with a huff. The ride was long and there were as many
puzzling turns as there was dense traffic. The air bubble of anxious excitement in my
stomach had grown heavier with every mile and as we finally were less than 800 feet
from our destination it was ready to burst.
There it is mom! I screeched eagerly as I wildly pointed my finger toward the
peeling I love my chinchillas sign hanging from a slanted, overly battered mailbox. This
was it. We had finally arrived. After four grueling months of research, preparation,
financial stress, and emotional turmoil I was seconds away from meeting the two fluff
babies in which I was ready to devote the next 15 years of my life to. In a fervent haste I
flung myself over the car seat to grab the small animal carrier in which I was about to
take my two 8 week old chinchillas home in.
When is she coming out? My mother hesitantly questioned.
Coming out? Shes not coming out mom. I muttered with annoyed emphasis on
the word mom. I already told you, she asked us to meet her in her barn. My mothers
eyes shifted nervously toward the modestly sized yellow mobile home as she plainly
furrowed her brow in dismay. I rolled my eyes in exasperation as I finished zipping up
the small animal carrier.
WHO IS THAT!?!? my mother shrieked, her voice seething with judgment. I
looked up to see her widened eyes gaping at a generously pierced and bald heavy set
man with elaborate swirls of ink covering the entire surface area of both of his arms, and
much of his neck, walking out from the front porch toward his car. He was no discomfort

to me, despite my mothers supercilious guidance, he didnt look much different than
any of my friends, just older.
Im not sure. I snapped. Probably Terrys husband or boyfriend.
Her HUSBAND?!? she shouted as she threw her hands into the air in a very
abrasively Italian manner. I rolled my eyes again.
Okay then mom. Im going to get my chinchillas now. I sighed, as I reached
toward the handle of the car door. Suddenly, I felt my mothers long fingers firmly wrap
around my arm.
Christina She commanded, I do not want you going to that womans barn this
place is not safe. I dont like this place at all. It gives me a bad feeling. She whispered
as she looked around in disgust. That man looks dangerous. Why does this woman
need you to meet her in her barn? Why cant she come out?
In that moment I realized I had a decision to make. Do I listen to the woman who
raised me and has put all of her love and time into me from the time I was born? Or do I
dis honor her and tell her that her ways of casting judgment upon people are wrong and
hateful? Would it hurt my mother to tell her that I was no longer going to listen to her
way of thinking?
People, like my mother for example, are often a product of their environment.
They are raised to judge and evaluate others based on completely subjective societal
criteria like money, skin color, gender, religion, and all this other bull shit that we as
collective whole have decided means something. It is so convenient for us to fall into the
same path of narrow minded thinking that our parents expect us to follow. In that
moment I decided I would not be a product of my environment and that I was not going

to follow a mentality that I knew, in my heart, was wrong. I would not judge someone for
looking different and expressing themselves in a way that might make me
uncomfortable, and I would not think someone is lower than me and dangerous simply
because they live a different lifestyle in which they have less money than me and my
family. Terry is renowned by the chinchilla breeding community, and holds the highest
reputation for breeding on the entire east coast, winning every first place award in
national chinchilla shows for her superior breeding. My mother knew this as I showed
her Terrys Facebook page and all the awards she had received on a national level and
still, my mother decided to judge Terry and her husband because they lived in a mobile
home and had tattoos.
My mother looked at me blinking as the air grew heavy in silence.
Stop it. I finally spoke.
What?! My mother gasped.
You know that Terry is not dangerous mom. I dont have to tell you that. I
breathed. And you know that the only reason you are saying that is because you think
she is poor and you dont like that her husband has tattoos. I stated with a clenched
jaw. I could hear my voice rising. And you know that judging someone because you
think they are poor is not right. She blinked in shock as if I had just slapped her across
the face. Then she did something I did not expect.
She looked down. In a tired voice she whispered.
Youre right.
I was so taken aback I nearly jumped. I had no earthly idea that my mother could
even feel guilty, but there she was clearly uncomfortable with herself looking down and

nervously fidgeting with the fabric of her skirt. I looked around awkwardly not knowing
what to say. My mother finally broke the silence.
Why dont you go? She spoke softly. Terry must be wondering where you are.
She smiled.
Thanks mom. I replied and gave her a peck on the cheek before leaving.