We'll come back tomorrow?

My father bailed on me and my mother very early in my life. My mother was left to be a single mother – on a single, high school graduate income. This doesn't make me special or even unique. But it's my story, nonetheless. Like any other child, I coveted things I saw at the store: a new doll, a coloring book, or perhaps some new shoes. But my mother’s response was always the same, “I don’t have money for that right now, mijita. We’ll come back tomorrow.” She said this so often that upon finding some new delightful item in the store I would simply ask, “We’ll come back tomorrow?”

We never did.

Experiences such as the one above are why I am the Liza of today. I've never lived with a sense of entitlement. I don’t break when all else says that I should be broken. I don’t question why I cannot have what is unattainable at the moment. I simply assess what needs to be done and move forward with the new direction my life has taken.

But I'm not a pushover. I pick my battles. I don't let them pick me.

So when someone suggests that my strength in the face of adversity diminishes someone else’s achievement, I have to laugh rather than feel sorry. I will not be sorry for refusing to be weak or for not allowing the weight of the world to come crashing down on me when someone else thinks it should. You see, I learned a long time ago to take the hand I was dealt and do whatever was necessary to win – as lousy as the hand might be.

I choose the high road because I, alone, am now responsible for all my tomorrows. And unlike the hopeful little girl who was uncertain if we would come back tomorrow, I can look at that question and actually be in control of the answer.

Absofuckinglutely.

I’ll be back tomorrow…and the next day…and the day after that.