“Unholy Night, 1958”


I’ve always enjoyed reading books, but like most adolescents my age, I’ve never liked being told what I have to read. I like to be able to choose a book that grabs my attention and speaks out to me personally. Reminiscing back to my high school years, I recall never wanting to read any of the books my English teachers assigned because I thought they all sounded very boring and dry. But like most students, I had no choice but to read them unless I wanted to fail the class. At first, the books were very boring, but what good book starts off great. The point here is, I slowly learned that all books are great. Sure there are some books that will speak out to you more because you can identify with them, and then there are those that do not, but they’re still great books and we can learn something insightful from them.
Maria Elena Llana, a Cuban author, does an excellent job in conducting a series of short stories to put together the book, An Address In Havana, which is translated into both English and Spanish versions. Her first short story, “Unholy Night, 1958” is a great read that instantly reminded me of my mother. I don’t know what it is about mothers, but it seems to me like they all have this sixth sense. I don’t know where this sixth sense comes from, but I know it’s there. My mom has this sixth sense, which I like to call her “crazy motherly instinct.” This instinct allows her to know and feel things that no one else could unless they were mothers as well. And most of the time, she’s always right even though I hate to have to admit it. I don’t think my mother has ever been wrong in anything she tells me.
I recall a time over summer when my mother was out of town and my older sister and I decided to have a “small gathering” with our friends or in better words “a party” because that’s what it ultimately turned into. Since my mom wasn’t going to be home for four days, we figured we would have our “small gathering” on a Friday night, so that way, we would have the entire weekend to tidy up the house from whatever mess was made. We made sure to invite only our close friends and to specify to them that it was strictly “all invites”, but of course, no one seemed to care. At the start of the night, we had like twenty friends over, which seemed like a decent amount for a “small gathering.” Sooner than later, more people began to show up at our door saying “so and so” had sent them the invite. What had started off as a “small gathering” turned into “a party” in a matter of a few hours. We ended up with a total of about fifty people more or less and of course our house got trashed, which we should have seen coming. By the end of the night, we realized the house was a total wreck. Our hardwood floors were lifted up from all the drinks that were spilled on the floor and there were paint chippings on the walls. We spent the rest of the weekend trying to fix the house before our mom came home. The day my mother finally came home, the first thing she said was, “There’s something wrong here. The house doesn’t look the same way I left it before I left town.” It didn’t take her long enough to realize that we had invited people over and had a party. She told us that she had a feeling we were going to do something reckless and irresponsible while she was gone because her “motherly instinct” had told her so. It’s safe to say that my sister and I spent the rest of that summer working to pay off the damage that was made. We paid to have the hard wood floors fixed and had to buy new paint. Just like the mother in, “Unholy Night, 1958,” my mother shares those same “motherly instincts.” Mothers always know when something is wrong

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