Told from the voice of a pre-teenager who is being raised solely by his mom, Bean begins the story with a question. He believes the answer to this question could remedy an inexplicable ache of loneliness and rage. The relationship with his mom is not the only challenge that Bean must navigate. He faces a major shift in a bond formed in his early childhood, and must learn to forge new connections within his familial and social spheres. Unable to cope with his anger in healthy ways, he directs his anger towards his mom, testing her boundaries and, thus, patience. Events from the mom’s past and present-day choices create significant changes within the home. It isn’t easy for either Bean or his mom. Difficult conversations arise as they both seek to build lasting, positive change within themselves, their relationships, and their home.
“I was amazed at the level of intent. I liked how the mom was calm under pressure, forgiving, a great listener, and dedicated, while navigating the complexities of parenthood. Wherever you are in life, you can get something from the book. It shows you how to deal with certain situations. I, myself, having raised five children while single, can speak to the depth and creativity of the author. I called her ocean is written in a way that invites readers of all ages and backgrounds to experience the story; it’s not ‘just’ about a mother and a son. There’s so much more to be discovered within its pages.”
Excerpts from i called her ocean:
“Why won’t you just answer the question?”
“I did answer your question.”
“You did not.”
“I think you want a different answer.”
“Well, that’s kind of obvious seeing as how you didn’t actually give me one.”
“What would you like me to say?”
“I’d like you to tell me who he is?”
“I cannot do that.”
“I think you can and you just don’t want to.”
“I explained to you that it was a difficult situation. I cannot talk to you about it.”
“Whatever mom. You have no idea how hard things are for me.”
~
“Wakey wakey.” my mom said smiling.
I made a grunting noise. My mom was always smiling in the morning. She loved mornings.
I continued laying there, showing no signs of getting out of bed.
Usually my mom didn’t hover. She was accustomed to me getting myself up and ready. It was rare that she had to come into my room to wake me and when she did, I usually jumped right up, knowing that I hadn’t done what I was supposed to the night before. My mom had her own morning routine. She’d check on my progress if it appeared I had somehow gotten distracted but for the most part, she had her cup of coffee, a pastry, fruit and made me something quick and light to either eat at home or on the way to school. As she was leaving my room, she glanced back and saw that, not only had I not moved from my bed, I had closed my eyes and was attempting to go back to sleep.
“I don’t think so.” She said. “You need to get up.”
I’m not sure why I said it, because I didn’t think about it before I did.
“I’m not going to school today.” I declared.
“Yes, you are.” she responded, walking over to my bed again. I continued laying there with my eyes closed, although now there was no way I was going back to sleep.
“Hey.” my mom said very firmly. “Get up and get dressed.”
I opened my eyes and sat up.
“I’m going to make breakfast.” She left my room as I got up from my bed and walked into the bathroom. I didn’t brush my teeth, wash my face or get ready. I felt strangely committed to the idea of me not going to school. After washing my hands, I left the bathroom, went into the kitchen and sat down at the table, where my mom had placed my breakfast. She was standing at the counter, coffee in hand, looking at me with a peculiar expression.
I ate the blueberry pancakes she had set out for me, trying my best to act oblivious to the fact that I was still wearing pajamas. My mom walked over to me, stood right next to my chair and said, “nice outfit.” Although there was obvious sarcasm, she said it with a playfulness.
“Thanks.” I replied.
“What’s going on, here?” She asked.
“What do you mean?” I responded.
“You know what I mean.” The playfulness from her tone now gone.
“Do I?”
She walked back to the counter, where she had placed her coffee and pastry, and sat down on one of the kitchen bar stools, her back to me. After a few minutes, she got up, left the kitchen and a few seconds later, I heard the door to her bedroom shut. After I finished my breakfast, I went to my room, laid down in the bed and tried to go back to sleep, but my thoughts wouldn’t stop. I wonder if she is mad at me. I don’t ‘have’ to go to school. I should’ve gone to sleep earlier. It’s her fault for keeping me up past my bedtime. Amidst the continuous thoughts, I also kept looking at my door, expecting her to come to my bedroom and make me go to school. After about ten minutes, I realized I didn’t want to be home; that the day wouldn’t be any fun and that I had no way of distracting myself. I got up from the bed, went into the bathroom, brushed my teeth and changed my clothes. At this point, I would be late, but I could still have most of the school day.
I knocked on my mom’s bedroom door.
“Come in.” I heard her say.
I opened the door to find her sitting in bed, reading a book.
“I’m ready.” I said.
“Ready for what?” She asked.
“School.”
“Oh.” She responded and then went back to reading.
I stood there for a few seconds, thinking she would get out of bed or at least put her book down, but she didn’t.
“Have a good day at school.” She said. “Please close my door.”
“Close your door?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Don’t you need to get up and take me?” She always drove me.
“No. I do not need to take you. You can ride your bike.”
“All the way there? That’s too far.”
“It’s the only option you have and it’s not really that far. You’ve ridden your bike around the neighborhood longer than it would take for you to ride it to school.” She got up and walked over to the door.
“Are you serious?” I asked.
“Yes. Please leave my room.”