I am often struck with memories that make me cringe, as most people are. Those are the kinds of memories that get stuck in the brain like food gets stuck in the teeth; no matter how long you try to work them out, they still take their own time to truly fade away.

I'm assaulted by the usual brand of memories: embarrassing moments, intense betrayals, small social mishaps that creep up on me right as I'm dozing off to sleep. But the one memory that strikes me the hardest, still gets a visceral feeling churning in my gut, is a recent memory of when my mother believed she had disappointed me.

There are things in life I can live without, and luxuries are one of them. I'm not a big fan of spending a lot of money on things, and would much rather spend them on small gifts and groceries instead. I'm much happier with a pan of freshly-baked brownies than I would be if I received something opulent and expensive. I rarely want for those kinds of things, too, because I am happy as I am.

I will never forget the day my mother became forlorn because she realized she could not buy me something that she really wanted to get for me--something that I had expressed a liking for, sure, but didn't suggest. We often entertain distant dreams without any intention of courting them to reality, and this was one of mine.

Needless to say, when she tried, she could not get it for me. I don't come from a wealthy family, and we're always flirting with poverty. I once worked an entire summer, only to have half my wages distributed among medical bills and other related expenses. This was money I was saving for college, money that I couldn't afford to spend if I wanted to finish my education. We avoid regular checkups and dental cleanings because we can't afford the bills. My last thorough medical examination was when I started college. That was almost four years ago.

But I digress. My mother couldn't spoil me with this gift. There is something I will never understand about being a parent, because I am not one, and I don't plan to be one: I will never understand what it feels like to want to give someone everything you never had. I will never understand wanting to look at someone, see the brightness in their eyes, and treasure it above anything else. I will never understand that desire to pour myself wholeheartedly into something for the sake of someone else.

This gift would have been a once-in-a-lifetime experience for someone like me. I am always chagrined, because I am one of those people who can't afford long train rides to and from places like my friends can, or who can't even afford meals or movie tickets during the school year. I'm someone who has to portion out my money and spend it on gas, school books, and supplies. I'm someone who can't make frequent trips out, who can't go to see live shows or drink in coffee shops.

This gift would have been a big thing for someone like me. Something new, something exciting, something that could help me forget my worries for a while. And it broke her heart when she realized that we just couldn't afford it.

What kills me is that it hurt her so badly. I don't give a rat's ass that I didn't get it; I only mentioned it in passing anyway. But she seemed so let down, and she felt as if she let me down, and it never fails to make me sad.

Mom--this is personally to you. I don't care about getting nice things. I can live without a brand new car, or a new video game system, or tickets to a Broadway show. I can live without one hundred dollar jeans, or beautiful dresses that cost more than they're worth. The only thing in this world I can't live without is the ability to sit down across from you and just talk about our day.

They say the best gifts--the most rewarding ones--are gifts of experiences. My favorite things aren't that crazy new game coming out, or the latest in fashion; my favorite things are the sunset streaming across the porch, the way you laugh when you scare the shit out of me, the way you sing random songs that pop into your head. My favorite things are our silly cinema games when we're on long car rides, and the inside jokes we've culled over the years. My favorite things are being with you and our family, and I wouldn't want anything else in the world more than those moments.

I can understand that you want to give me the world, and I am so grateful that you love me that much. But Mom, you've already given me the world. You've given me perspective and happiness. I would rather have your love and confidence than any amount of material wealth.

That memory will always make me sad, always make me hurt. But that's okay, because I know my convictions. I know where I stand. You've given me everything, and I hope one day I can return the favor.