MY DAUGHTER’S HANDS

Yesterday, my only daughter turned 17.  She made Charlie Chan pasta for both sides of the family and I baked her a chocolate cake.  A simple celebration made special by the fact that as the celebrator she made everyone happy. 

This brought back a memory that I have of her.

A few months ago, I happened to touch my daughter’s hands while we were preparing merienda and I was very surprised at how much their texture had changed.  Used to holding her soft, warm hands I was shocked to hold hands that are harder and not dissimilar to my own work roughened ones. 

For the rest of that day, the sensation of touching her strong, hard palms stayed with me and it bothered me.  That night, I found myself crying when I recalled it and realized why it bothered me so much.  I have nothing against hard work, and when I first became a parent I resolved to teach my children its value and was even determined not to spoil them.  I was crying because my baby’s hard and rough hands came a bit earlier than I expected.  At the age of fourteen, she slowly assumed responsibilities at home such as dishwashing, cleaning and eventually doing the laundry.  We belong to a middle income household and though we could afford to hire household help, my husband and I decided that we could do it on our own.  This decision came when my kids turned ten and eleven and the last of a series of disastrous maids went AWOL.

Seven years later and with two babies added to the family, a toddler and an infant, things are quite rough.  For my eldest son, things did not change as much, but for my only daughter, the role became more pronounced as the years passed by.  My husband, who grew up in an affluent household as an only son naturally assumed that my daughter, being female should learn to do the housework.  It is a blessing that she loves to cook and has a natural knack for recreating dishes that I have made after simply observing, but as she grew older, she started assuming more responsibilities at home. I, being a fulltime working mother started to rely on her more, especially in helping me prepare three meals a day for our growing family.

When the lockdown hit last year, I was on maternity leave, and I was still under the misguided notion that things would be normal by the time my paid leave ends.  Five months after giving birth and four and a half months after the lockdown, my employer is yet to activate me and we are surviving on meager savings and the generosity of family members.  With the lockdown, my daughter saw more and more of my worries grow, as day after day of uncertainty passed.  I try to shield my two older children from our financial worries but my daughter, bright and sensitive as she is, sees more than others do.  Without me noticing it at first, I just realized that working harder at household chores is her way of helping ease my burden.  Whenever I would start to do something she would suddenly take over, constantly telling me to sit down and rest.  It became her habit to offer me food or water as I go through the series of chores on a daily basis.  She preps food ingredients, washes the dishes, babysits the toddler and the infant and even cleans the sink and the oven regularly (with an old toothbrush to reach every nook and cranny).

Indeed my little girl has grown up to be a mature and considerate young lady and I almost didn’t see it.  She may have lost her baby soft hands much earlier than I preferred but I know that she will be a strong and responsible individual who is ready to tackle any and all of life’s challenges. While girls of her age worry about what’s trending on Netflix, my young lady is using her hands to create something marvelous. Whether it’s a new digital artwork, writing a poem or making hand pulled ramen noodles, I know that whatever it is that she’s making, it would be amazing- just like her.