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I find I must share.

Sunday, May 17, 2009
Posted in: Azteclady Speaks

Some of you may have noticed that I am not terribly forthcoming with personal information. Call me paranoid or a hermit, but there you have it.

However, there are times when if feel that either I share or burst. This is one such case, and even though I’ve managed to sit on this for over a year, I find I cannot hold it in anymore.

Behold the words of my second and youngest kidlet (who had turned 15 a few short months before writing this)

Her Hands, My Hands

Her hands are similar to mine; slender and small to the extreme. They are tan from spending hours in the garden, with calluses from building a shed for our bikes. She never uses nail polish; she says it’s too much of a hassle. She keeps her nails short and does not indulge in expensive lotions or lavish soaps. All in all, my mother’s hands show what a sensible, down-to-earth person she is.

Those hands have taught me several lessons. They taught me how to paint a wall evenly and how to make oatmeal. They enlightened me on how to cross-stitch and bake brownies. They instructed me on how to tie my shoelaces and use the microwave. They taught me to wrap presents and pack a suitcase. Patiently, her hands have trained mine to complete tasks that I will appreciate having learned for the rest of my life. They have also taught me painful lessons. One of them was to behave myself.

Perhaps it comes from our Hispanic culture, or perchance I was an unusually spoiled and disagreeable child. It is most feasibly the latter. For whichever reason, I on numerous* occasions throughout my childhood ended up laying stomach-side-down on my mother’s lap while she spanked me. She did not enjoy disciplining me in this manner and I most definitely was not a fan, but I see now that she was attempting to educate me. At the time I was too hysterical and busy screaming, flailing my legs, and pretending to cry to comprehend it, but I now understand what she was trying to get through to me. She was trying to teach me that bad things happen when you don’t behave.

Just as we look alike, our hands are not unlike each others’. Possibly it has something to do with genetics, or maybe it is related to our similar personalities. They are the same size and width with the same nail shape and finger length. Neither of us chews our nails; we find it repulsive. I rarely paint my nails and she never does. My hands are as tan as hers from spending hours at lacrosse practice. Not only do they have similar appearances; we also use them in similar ways. I tend to gesture and wave my arms a great deal when I speak, as does she. We both have very small penmanship and write very quickly, and share our dislike of using pencils.

I intend to make a living from my hands in the future. My ambition is to become a surgeon when I am older. I expect to use my hands to save lives. It is what I wish to do, but it may not be so. Perhaps I will follow in my mother’s footsteps and pursue a career in writing; she writes reviews for books that people send her as an occupation**. Maybe I will be like her, and live off of my pen; I can think of worse fates. Though I must say, I do believe I’d rather use a scalpel.

(copyright Y S-V, April 9, 2008)

snoopy1

*I wonder since when three or so are “numerous”
**Heh, I just realized the kidlet was under the impression at the time that I got paid to write reviews *chuckle*

17 Comments »

  • AL, that was lovely! Thanks for sharing. Kids, everytime you suspect that it all goes in one ear and out the other, they make you proud, don’t they? :-)

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  • I wish I’d had a best friend like my daughter when I was fifteen. She’s smart and funny and confident despite her family. :) OTOH, it’s pretty cool to be her mom.

    Sounds like you have a good one, too.

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  • Well, I think your daughter definitely has a gift for words. :)

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  • theo
    May 17
    2:14 pm

    And she was fifteen when she wrote this? wow O_o What a wonderful testament to the love she carries for you.

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  • You have a very talented child, who obviously loves you. You’ll want to save this and take it out to show her 15 years from now. What a sweet sweet thing.

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  • Mad
    May 17
    4:35 pm

    Aww, that was very sweet, AL!

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  • I laughed at the end with the thought that reviewing can sometimes MEAN using a ‘scalpel’. :)

    But isn’t it great when they reach the age where they finally get the parenting thing?

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  • Lori
    May 17
    9:01 pm

    That is gorgeous. I would be so proud.

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  • How well written. You may be critiquing one of her books some day. :)
    Seriously, that was lovely and moving.

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  • Frame it and give her a copy when her daughter is fifteen. It will give her hope and patience and understanding when she needs it most.

    It’s wonderful.

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  • *blushing* Thank you, ladies.

    And yes, I’m incredibly proud of her :grin:

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  • That is such a beautiful and tender essay. I’m so glad you decided to share it. :)

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  • Lorraine
    May 18
    3:01 am

    What a wonderful essay for your daughter to write. I confess, the first two paragraphs brought tears to my eyes. Congratulations on raising such a beautiful daughter.

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  • What a wonderful tribute from a daughter to her mother. As mothers, we often wonder when our children are young, if they know that what we do, we do because we love them. It sounds like your daughter knows and appreciates and loves that it all came from Mother love.

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  • Miki
    May 19
    4:37 am

    Very, very sweet.

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  • This is really lovely. Did it make you cry? My 9 y.o. daughter gave me a certificate she’d designed that said “My Mom rocks out loud!” and I got all teary. LOL. Congrats on your wonderful daughter.

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  • Wow! That’s incredible. A special kid with a special mom.

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