The Rumble

The rumble we felt was our own, not caused by rough pavement. As the car slowed, so did my mother's ability to think. There was only one answer, I knew, yet it did not come to her. We were stranded, and she panicked. What was to be done except call for help? The day went on, the problems multiplying by the minute. I remained calm, my mother not so much. She shrunk away from her responsibilities in a crisis, as though she were the thinnest of paper, caught and destroyed by a stray flame. I did not. The situations were black and white, what needed to be done would have to be done. The world of constant dilemma and headache was new, yet I handled it with the courage and sensibility of one who has aced this obstacle course millions of times before. As I saw my guardian in a new light; that of a frightened child, I saw myself evolve as well. I did not shrink away, I emerged an older, wiser, experienced me. 

This poem is about: 
Me
My family

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