My Mom Is A Parasite
I was molded into a top student by my mom’s
thousands of slaps.
From the time I could remember, a single point
off would earn me a slap.
Sleeping a minute too long? Another slap.
Under her strict regime, I quickly excelled.
I got into her dream college.
Worried I’d slack off, she moved into my dorm,
slapping me into shape.
As she wished, I got into Yale for my master’s.
She became a renowned “educator.”
On the first day of school, she moved into my
dorm again.
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Basking in the spotlight, she boasted.
But I tied two towels together.
Hung them on the bathroom faucet.
Slipped my head in.
And ended it all.
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I was never cut out for studying, but my mom
refused to admit it.
She considered herself smart, just held back by
a poor family background.
She believed I inherited her intelligence.
So, I was supposed to excel academically.
But from kindergarten, I lagged behind other
A nursery rhyme that took other kids a day to
learn took me three,
So, my mom slapped me daily.
Eventually, my dad couldn’t stand it.
He suggested having another child to make up
for my lack of smarts.
But mom was adamant. She would mold me
into success.
She wanted to prove to the world that there
were no bad students, only bad parents.
Thus began my hellish training.
It started in first grade.
Mom said that a slow bird must start flying
early, cutting my sleep time to cram study
sessions.
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I went to bed at 11 PM and you up at o AM.
If I nodded off, she’d slap me.
Under her regimen, I got used to little sleep.
But in class, I couldn’t help yawning.
The teacher reported this to my mom.
Mom decided to sit in my class for a week.
She brought a steel needle with her.
Every time I nodded off, she’d poke my leg.
By the end of the week, my legs were
punctured and bloody.
But I stopped dozing off.
Mom was thrilled.
The teacher not knowing the truth asked her
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for tips to share with other parents.
((
When mom showed the bloody needle, the
teacher was speechless.
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That semester, I got perfect scores in Math and English.
Mom proudly took photos of the test papers
and shared them to the families.
She told me, “Show them there are no dumb
kids, just parents who don’t know how to
teach.”
Seeing her so happy, I asked if I could sleep
early during the break.
She coldly replied, “One set of perfect scores
and you’re getting lazy? Maybe I haven’t been
hitting you hard enough.”
From then on, I learned to keep my mouth shut.
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That perfect score gave my mom a new
purpose in life.
She became a firm believer in “spare the rod, spoil the child.”
Every day, she used her limited knowledge to
tutor me.
She didn’t just demand high scores on finals
but also on every small quiz.
Whenever my grades dipped, she would storm to school, demanding answers from the
teachers.
In fifth grade, my homeroom teacher mistakenly marked one of my test answers wrong, costing
me a point.
That night, mom found out and went ballistic.
The next day, she dragged the teacher to the
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principal’s office and yelled, “Is this because we
didn’t give you gifts? Are you deliberately
picking on my Mary?”
I felt terrible because my teacher had always
been kind to me.
I tugged on mom’s sleeve, “Mom, please, Miss. Lorrain is good to me. She even gives me
snacks.”
Mom slapped me and said, “She’s supposed to be good to you. Your grades make her look
good!”
The teacher, who was pregnant, apologized,
explaining her mistake was due to her
condition.
Mom exploded, “You’re pregnant? These kids
are in fifth grade! How dare you get pregnant
now? If you leave, my daughter will have to
adapt to a new teacher, affecting her entrance
ovomol
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Mom demanded the teacher get an abortion.
She rallied other parents to pressure the
principal.
The teacher, stressed, eventually miscarried.
Mom showed no remorse and bragged among
the parents, “Now we won’t need to change teachers. You should all thank me.”
Some parents couldn’t stand her attitude and
said she caused a tragedy.
Mom shot back, “Don’t you get it? Survival of the fittest. If the baby couldn’t handle a bit of
stress, it wasn’t meant to be!”
However, mom didn’t get her way.
The principal replaced the teacher anyway.
The officer said the teacher’s health couldn’t handle frontline teaching anymore.
Mom finally backed down, but parents turned
on her, saying she did something that hurt everyone.
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Mom retorted, “A miscarriage ruins her ability
to teach? I don’t buy it. The principal’s just Covering for her. Who knows what kind of shady relationship they have!”
Because of me, my classmates lost the
homeroom teacher who had been with us for
five years.
Due to warnings from their parents, they all
started avoiding me.
I was isolated, and my grades slipped.
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3:40
In the final exams that year, I scored 98 in
English and only 92 in Math.
When my mom saw the report card, she
slapped me ten times and kicked me a few more for good measure.
Then she took the report card to confront the new teacher, demanding how I, a straight–A student, could end up like this.
That day, my dad stopped her.
“Can you stop embarrassing yourself? Have you ever considered that Mary’s declining grades
might be your fault?”
My mom went ballistic.
“How could it be my fault? I stay up late with
her every night, spend all our money on study
materials and fish oil! If her grades are bad, it’s
either her laziness or the teacher’s bias!”
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Dad, shaking his head in disappointment, let go
of her.
“Let’s get a divorce,”
Dad said he’d had enough of watching morn
abuse me and living in chaos,
He wanted to take me away.
Mom refused,
“I’ve almost turned Mary into a success, you
can’t take my achievement!”
That night, dad patted my head, tears falling,
left the house and our only 2,000 dollars
savings behind,
He didn’t look back.
I thought mom would stop him.
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She didn’t.
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She just watched me redo every wrong problem twenty times, then angrily told me, “Your dad
left because of you. From now on, you must
study hard to make up for the pain you’ve caused me.”
That day, my heart felt like it was being crushed by a boulder.
I could barely breathe.
I didn’t sleep that night.
Early the next morning, mom dragged me up.
She took the 2,000 dollars and enrolled me in
Math and English classes–starting with
seventh–grade material.
“A slow bird has to start early. If you don’t learn
middle school subjects now, you’ll fall behind
It was as if she turned the pain of divorce into an invisible whip.
Only by pushing me to study relentlessly could she escape her own agony.
From that day on, my sleep was further cut.
I went to bed at 11 PM and woke up at 5 AM.
Mom said I needed to get used to this schedule for middle school.
Maybe guilt from my parents‘ divorce weighed
on me.
Maybe years of her beatings had worn down my spirit.
From that day, I shut myself off.
Apart from basic needs, my life was nothing but
study.
(,
A year later, I aced every subject and got into the top middle school in our area.
I joined the advanced class.
All the students were new faces.
This was a relief because no one knew about my mom’s past actions, and I wouldn’t be isolated.
I made two good friends. Like other kids, we would go to the restroom together and fool around during breaks.
I even started to like school and dreaded the
end–of–day bell.
In middle school, the restaurant where mom
worked was constantly talking about layoffs.
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To keep her job, she stopped taking time off to
pick me up.
So after school, I’d hang out by the school gate
with my friends, looking at the ducklings for
sale.
My friends bought them, but I knew mom
wouldn’t agree, so I just watched.
One day, as I was playing with a duckling in my
hand, someone yanked my hair.
I yelped in pain.
Mom let go and slapped me twice!
“Mary Deakinson! I’ve been watching you!
Instead of going home to study, you waste time
playing with these little creatures!”
My friends hugged me and defended me.
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reany likes them. I you Duy ner one, she won f
stop here anymore!”
Mom dragged me away and yelled at my
friends, “Mary used to be obedient; you two must be a bad influence!”
Then she kicked over the duck seller’s stand.
In the chaos, several ducklings got crushed.
Their tiny bodies twitched on the ground.
Many girls cried out of pity.
The vendor grabbed mom’s hand, demanding
compensation.
Instead, mom called the city management.
The vendor, unable to do anything, packed up
while cursing.
Mom went on to ask the security guard for the
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IVION went on to ask the security guard for the
disciplinary office’s number, insisting the school
clean up its surroundings.
After that day, the area around the school
became very quiet.
No more ducklings, no more favorite snacks,
not even the water vending trucks.
I became infamous.
They called me “Mary the Duck Killer.”
I was isolated again.
Mom was thrilled when she heard.
She said, “No friends means no distractions
from studying.”
But she didn’t realize my classmates were no
longer little kids.
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Some had learned to bully.
Daily, I found insects in my pencil case and got splashed with dirty water and rotten eggs.
I became the school joke. My initial love for school turned into dread.
I couldn’t sleep, and my hair fell out in clumps.
I sought help from the school counselor.
The counselor called mom, suggesting I see a
therapist.
I got five or six slaps outside the office.
Mom said I was faking it to avoid studying.
“Mary Deakinson, you just need a good
beating!”
I couldn’t resist.
The day before, mom had told me she lost her
job.
Someone had posted a video of her outburst at
the school gate online.
The boss fired her.
Mom cried, “Because of you, your dad divorced
- me. Now I lost my job because of you. Mary
Deakinson, do I owe you something? Living
inside me for ten months wasn’t enough? You
want to destroy me?”
She made me swear to study hard and get into
a top university to repay her.
I agreed.
Mom never took me to see a therapist.
I gradually adapted to insomnia.
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When I couldn’t sleep, I memorized my notes
with my eyes closed.
It paid off.
That year, I ranked first in my grade.
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In the third year of middle school, new boy
transferred to our class.
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He was smart, always cheerful, and bright like a
spring breeze.
He became my deskmate, and gradually, I
started to like him.
One day, he brought me a cage with two little
rabbits.
He said that animals could heal the soul, “Mary,
vou look beautiful when vou smile: vou should
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Sme more.
Looking at the rabbits, I remembered the ducklings mom had crushed.
