by Jason Salas, KUAM News Friday, May 11, 2007 Subscribe to Jason's newsfeed   E-mail this article Printable version KUAM Toolbar Web Widgets Get RSS headlines

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Consider this narrative an open letter to the Nobel Prize Committee. Because Leslie Salas, in this journalist's humble opinion, is more than deserving of the coveted award for her work in the field of tolerance. Because the Good Lord knows I wasn't the easiest kid to raise and rear.

My mom had to be many things at many times. But the one thing she's always been is there. She's put up with me through all my various wannabe stages: breakdancer, skater, headbanger, soldier, athlete, academic, comedian, faux rebellious 80's teen. But that's kind of the point - I was able to try lots of different things because she supported me no matter what I did. Regardless of how far-fetched a scheme or how hair-brained a pursuit, she'd remain supportive and observant, distantly protective.

And now that I've finally achieved some stability in my life's journey, she's still ever-present.

Throughout my youth, I was always my own person, pretty self-reliant, content with my own company and not really dependent on anyone else. Naturally, my mom, the matriarch of my family, confirms this completely. She says, "Well, when you were little you were kind of clingy, you were the kind of baby that I was. I drove my mother crazy, and you drove me crazy when you were an infant."

(OK, maybe I stretched the truth a little for dramatic effect.) And maybe I was one of those kids that you couldn't leave unattended while shopping because I'd probably get lost and wind up crying. And admittedly, I wasn't the most independent of children. But one thing that's undisputed is that my mom and I share an unbreakable bond forged by years of open communication.

Recapping our relationship, she continues, "We've always had a close relationship and part of that was because I was your first teacher. I loved watching you learn things and now that I don't understand the things that you're doing on computers, that certainly has changed. And you still use me as your sounding board and if you have a problem or need someone to listen to you, I think I'm one of the people you go to first."

Damn straight.

She also describes how she was able to nurture me and my sister Stacy, four years my junior, through the various changes we went through growing up in Dededo. "Being the children of two first-born children has definitely taken a toll on you," Mom speculates, "because we instilled in you a philosophy that if you go to work to do a job, you do the best job you can."

But while she constantly encouraged my sister and me to pursue our own interests, both she and my father strictly enforced a single constant, placing a serious premium on education. "I think pretty much all your lives you both figured out that because Dad and I were involved in education that was important - that we wanted and expected you to do well. And I always told you after you graduated from college that I didn't care how many letters you amassed after your name, as long as you were doing something that truly made you happy," she remembers.

Ah, memories. But now onto the serious stuff.

Even though she plays it down, I know the fact that my sister and I haven't blessed my parents with a litter of grandchildren - yet - is something she sorely longs to someday see and have. Until that time, she simply continues to impart knowledge in only the way she can, sharing with me a glimpse of what it's going to be to raise a family of my own, while simultaneously letting me experience life for myself. Mom stresses of my assumedly forthcoming family, "Enjoy them, because the time goes by faster than you'll ever believe. But by the same token, when you have a child that sends you to the phone crying to your mother, as I did, just remember that this too shall pass. The bad times, the difficulties, the times when you butt heads, they go away."

Then in a way that's so typically her she makes a profound statement, really driving home the foundation of our thirty-three-year relationship as mother and son. "I hope when you have children that you enjoy them thoroughly as I've enjoyed you. It's just such a thrill to watch you grow up and become your own person." Wow.

And true to her silent and careful nature, she doesn't have any regrets about the family we've always been, and the friends we've become.

Mom - you're my parent, my teacher, my inspiration, my confidant. You taught me right from wrong and how to help people, how to put others before myself and how be a good person. For that, I owe you everything. I love you.