One Woman’s Tragedy: Why My Mother Scorned Red Dresses

Months later, when we were visiting a friend in a ranch, mother went timidly to a horse and gently patted his head, as if she was making peace with herself.

One day I was looking at the painting of the cover of the book, representing my mother and grandmother who were witnessing the assassination of their husband and father.

I found another clue of our life.

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Horror Is Off-Limits

This was in the first painting that I painted for the book cover. I usually do not like any kind of horror stories, movies or paintings.

Therefore I put gentle light red colors on the floor in front of my grandmother and mother, representing the innocent blood of my grandfather swallowed by the ground.

I was not able to paint the real color of the blood.

I was trying to show the two innocent victims’ lives changing from a secured and loving to the suffering life of a widow and orphan forever.

I was just happy to be able to put the two eyes that have the eternal knowledge and memory to witness the acts of humans and remember the innocent victims.

The eyes that also ask why.

After the day my mother told me about the horses, I started looking at the paintings with a different angle. Then another mystery was solved in our family after such a long time.

As far as I can remember. my mother and grandmother only wore dark color dresses of black, navy and brown.

My mother was a little better. She mixed some white with those colors. For example, the fabric would be white polka dots on a black background, or the navy dress had a white collar.

I, on the contrary, loved bright colors. Red, yellow and blue were my favorites. But my mother was the one who would sew or buy my dresses. Therefore I also ended up having dark colored dresses.

Unfortunately, my school uniform was of dark grey color.

Once when my father came back from a trip, he bought me some meters of fabric with a pattern of delicate red roses and green leaves on a background predominantly white.

I loved the fabric, and I was excited. I gave some ideas to my mother of how I wanted my dress to look. But the fabric stayed in a drawer. Eventually, the white background faded to yellowish.

I opened the drawer every day, then every week.

I comforted myself by thinking that my mother did not have the time to sew my dresses as there were more priorities in her life.

So I also grew up in dark colors — until I left home for college and started shopping for myself. Then I bought the colorful dresses, and I enjoyed wearing them.

But whenever my mother saw them, she would give her frank opinion that my dresses were out of taste, out of fashion and besides, they looked silly to wear.

When I came to the United States for the first time, I was living on the East Coast. The first thing that caught my attention was the color of the dresses worn by old ladies.

Then in the autumn I saw all the leaves changing into beautiful bright colors before falling down.

I wrote back to my grandmother and mother.

I told them:

“You have to see and learn from the old ladies in the U.S. They are wearing red, yellow and all of the bright colored dresses. They even wear colorful hats and glittering jewelry.”

A Lesson from Nature

I suggested that they should also change their colors. I even told them that when I look at the trees, I am amazed by what nature is teaching us. Before falling, the beautiful green leaves turn to bright red. Yellow and orange colors turn to brown before they fall.

I told my mother and grandmother, ‘Nature wears bright colors in old age. Why don’t you?”

When I returned home with my colorful dresses, I was again reproached and reminded by my mother that my dresses looked silly. She said again they were not chic.

Now when I look at the painting and remembering of the past of our family story, I understand, after all of these years, the reason for my mother’s choice of colors.

A Forbidden Shade

I understand that her brain had registered the red blood color of her father deep inside of her being.

How could she wear or appreciate red colors when the first significant red color of her life was the innocent blood of her father that was splashed in front of her?

Now after so many years I understood why my mother hated vivid colors and why she felt guilty when I wore colorful dresses.

(To be concluded in Tuesday’s edition)