My Mom Is Brave

I’ve heard many stories about when I was a baby, and how brave my mother was. When I was only six months old, we moved to Nevada into a tent on a mountain near Cherry Creek. One day, she held me while standing on a bed as my dad and grandpa chased a skunk out of the tent. Maybe that doesn’t sound brave to you, but just the fact that she was holding me and still in the tent and not down the mountain a few miles is brave.


Once when I was on a trip with the wilderness committee we camped for the night near Leman Caves. Shortly after going to bed, I heard a noise and when I turned on the flashlight there was a skunk under the table going through the food. Another woman and I immediately crept away and spent the night sleeping in the van instead of our sleeping bags. My mother didn’t teach me to be brave, or maybe I was too young to remember.

The other story told to me was that one day a lizard was crawling across the ceiling of the tent. My mother stood watching it and as it got over the crib, she grabbed me as it was falling. It would have landed on top of me. No wonder I hate the sight of those creatures.

I don’t remember either of these incidents, but it still demonstrates how brave a mother is and shows they would do anything for their children. When you are hurt, they pick you up and take care of you. They comfort you when you are sad. I think mothers are supposed to be brave, and mine is no exception.