For the first time in over six years of flying between New York and San Francisco, I did not fly direct between the two cities coming back to New York tonight. I actually had a layover in Dallas, much to my utter annoyance. The price difference, if I can remember it correctly, was over $100, which didn’t make sense considering that this flight was already fairly expensive for this time of year. I’ve never paid more than $500 to fly home except for one time when it was around Christmas, which is to be expected.

My mom was pretty miserable this morning when we left. She’s always sad the day I leave, and more so this time since yesterday, she was thinking about Ed even more than usual because of the egg rolls we made together. It’s always a hard thing for me to see my mother sad. I feel like she’s tried so hard her whole life to do good things and be a good person, to work hard and support her family, yet at the end of the day, she’s never gotten what she’s really deserved and just isn’t happy. She’s happier when I am around because it means that she can do new, different things, and she can have someone near her who genuinely cares about her and doesn’t just want to talk about the latest shooting or crime that’s happened in the neighborhood.

The older I get, the more I realize how incapable I am of so many things. I can’t make my mom less nervous or paranoid. I can’t make my dad less negative and focused on his delusion of increasing crime and a terrible world of idiots. I can’t make either of them more open to doing “rich people” things like international travel and fine dining. No matter what I do, I can’t make my parents happy people. No child really can.