INT. MOTHER’S HOUSE - LIVING ROOM - DAY.
YONA, 21, Petite, fair brown skin, long black hair, is sitting on the sofa having a glass of Moscato with her Mother. MOTHER, 60, average body-size, short black hair, is talking to Yona about her childhood memories.
THERE’S MUSIC PLAYING FROM RADIO.
Mother turns the volume on radio down.
My mom once joked that I make her look like my enemy on my blog. The force that I rebelled against as a youngster was my parents, so they get painted as the opposition sometimes. I'm proud of this rebellious streak, and attribute some of my success to it, but also know that I would have none of what I have if it wasn't for them.
Even ignoring the all-trumping donation of their genetic material, my parents, along with the rest of my family, are unquestionably the biggest positive force in my life. Although it doesn't usually make it into sappy blog posts like this one, the truth is that every single day, I think about how incredibly lucky I am to have such incredible parents. If I dwell on the thought too long, I find myself fighting back tears of gratitude.
As someone who enjoys a huge degree of personal freedom, I am only now beginning to be able to comprehend the sacrifices that my parents have made for me. I was a difficult child even before I was born, giving my mother 36 hours of labor before finally popping out into the world. From that time until long after I left the house, she and my father put my needs above their own. It's fair to say that for most or all of that time, I didn't realize how profound this sacrifice was, let alone acknowledge it.