It was a Sunday and I was with my mom in a mall. Mom is short. It is easy to overlook her in a crowd because she is nothing extraordinary to see.
We walked down the mall, glancing at windows briefly because we both knew we wouldn't buy much, like always. I remember I was looking up at the people we passed - at first indifferently, but then attentively. Ladies wore five-inch heels and bright clothing. Men strode(阔步行走) by smelling of perfume.
An uneasy feeling started to settle in my chest. I tried to push it out, but once it took root it refused to be tossed away. I could not deny it; I was ashamed of my mother.
We were in a high-class neighborhood, I knew that. We lived in a small, overpriced apartment building that mom chose to move to because she knew the schools were good. But as I scrutinized the passers-by and then turned accusing eyes on Mom, I realized for the first time that we didn't belong there.
I could see the heavy lines around Mom's eyes and mouth. She wore cheap, ragged clothes. Her eyes were tired from working long hours to make ends meet and her hair too gray for her age.
I looked at her, and I was ashamed. My mom is nothing extraordinary, yet at that moment she stood out because she was just so plain.
I didn't want to be seen with her. Just then, pointing to a sweater in a high-end store, mom said, "This will look good on you. Do you want it?" I almost agreed, thoughtlessly. Then I took a closer look at the small, weary woman and my words died in my throat. Her clothes were old because she spent money buying me new ones. She looked tired because she was busy working to provide for me. She didn't wear jewelry because she was just content with me.
Suddenly, Mother was beautiful and extraordinarily wonderful in my eyes.
I was no longer ashamed of her, but of myself.
"No, thanks." I said.
