This weekend I thought a lot about my mother.
I called my parents on Saturday morning, as I usually do: they moved to Florida a few years ago and they absolutely love it, despite summer hurricanes and constant humidity. But I understand them: I dream about Florida’s sweet weather every night between December and April.
My mother infected me with her interest in people: her natural generosity and openness to humanity have always created in her an unparalleled dedication to understanding people. What do they think? What do they dream? Why do they laugh, or cry? When my brother and I were kids, she looked at us straight in the eyes every time we were crying, trying to pierce into our souls and see what was going on in our little hearts. She always got it. My brother remembers how she could make me stop crying with one deep look, and how this fascinated him and my father.
I’ve always known I didn’t have the same gift, so I studied psychiatry to try to become like her.
I still think she would be better than me at this job, but she’s too kind to admit it. Parents usually know how to handle their children.
With my best regards,
Dr. Alexander Williams