I’ll tell you a story. I beg not for your pity, nor do I wish to see you angry after hearing it. See, I have watched you grow from a distance, turning into a fine young man. The apple surely does not fall far from the tree. I watched as you went through our traditional rites of passage, wishing I were near you, to provide the love and comfort only mothers are wont to give. I noticed your eyes grow cloudy and your heart heavy, as you watched your mates run into the safe arms of their mothers.