She Is a Great Mother
by Huina Zheng
Part 1 appears in this issue.
conclusion
I don’t know why Jun’s relationship with his mother deteriorates, considering she clearly loves him wholeheartedly. After she forbade him to play games, he began secretly reading novels, immersing himself in Jin Yong’s martial arts stories whenever out of his mother’s sight, devouring one book after another. Although I recognize the importance of reading, such entertainment literature does not aid his studies. After a fierce argument with his mother, he ran away from home last night, and Ming asked him to stay with us.
The next morning, I tell Ming that Jun should go home, that he can’t continue being so willful.
“He needs some breathing room,” Ming argues, trying to convince me to let Jun stay a few more days.
“He needs to understand his mother,” I counter. “He’s not a child anymore. If my child acted as lazily and ungratefully as he does, I’d be heartbroken, too, and I’d urge him to study hard.”
Ming gives me a silent look for a moment before leaving my room. I think he might persuade Jun on their way to school but, instead, they only discuss an upcoming school sports event when they leave. Ming dislikes being too direct, saying it feels too cold, too merciless. After that, I phone Jun’s mother. I’m not sure why I expected Ming to manage this situation. I should have been more understanding.
That evening, Ming returned alone; Jun went back to his own home. Maybe that morning, I didn’t need to speak with Ming; he might have planned to advise Jun to go home anyway.
At dinner, I serve him a bowl of tofu fish soup, which took over an hour to stew. I prepare this fish soup weekly for Ming because the Omega-3 fatty acids are good for improving memory and concentration. I ask him to finish the soup before eating his meal.
Ming takes the steaming bowl from my hands, blows on it, and takes a careful sip. Watching him enjoy the soup fills me with warmth. I notice how skillfully he now removes fish bones with his chopsticks, a reminder that he is no longer the little boy who needed me to debone his fish for him.
“Next time, I’ll make turbot fish; it has more flesh and fewer bones,” I say.
“No, the grass carp is delicious,” he responds.
I serve him a piece of braised pork, his favorite dish. “You’re growing, you need to eat more,” I tell him. He’s almost as tall as I am now. I fill his bowl with rice, the steam mingling with the aroma of the pork.
“Thanks, Mom,” he says softly, but clearly enough for me to hear. As he reaches for the bowl I hand him, his fingertips brush the band-aid on my index finger; I cut myself while chopping vegetables. “Eat more vegetables,” I remind him, adding some stir-fried Chinese broccoli to his bowl. “A balanced diet is important.”
He nods and picks up some greens. He knows his mom is right and is accustomed to following my advice. After dinner, he offers to wash the dishes.
“You go rest,” I say. “You’ve been studying all day.”
But he insists on helping. “Your finger is injured; it shouldn’t get wet,” he explains, even though I know he has plenty of homework to complete. He is right; frequent contact with water can slow the healing process by preventing drying and scab formation.
We walk to the kitchen together. I stand aside, watching him grab a dishcloth and clean the dishes. “I know how much you’ve done for me over the years, and I feel it,” he says. “I won’t talk back to you like Jun does.”
He’s a considerate child. I worried that he might be influenced by Jun and start to feel I’ve been too intrusive in his life and studies.
After the dishes are done, I pour Ming a cup of chamomile tea, which helps relieve tension and stress, aiding relaxation. He inhales the apple-scented aroma and his eyebrows relax. I’ve come to associate this expression with our closeness.
* * *
On Wednesday evening, Ming comes home from school. As he sets his backpack on the dining table and prepares to wash his hands, I notice a fresh scrape on the edge of his right palm. Under the bright kitchen light, the scrape is particularly visible, the skin abraded, revealing fine red lines.
I tense up but try to keep my tone calm. “Ming, what happened to your hand?”
He turns his head, looks at his palm as if he is just noticing the scrape. “Oh, this? It’s nothing.”
I don’t want to press too hard, knowing he will share if he wants to. I serve him a bowl of chicken soup that has been simmering all afternoon.
“Did you get into a fight?” I can’t help but ask. I still can’t see him as someone who can solve his problems on his own. Maybe I should trust that he can handle things himself, but what if it’s something serious? Will I regret my “calm” later if I don’t intervene sooner? Maybe every mother who loves her child feels the same way, although Ming always tells me he wishes I would let him become more independent, especially since his goal is to become a judge, which requires conflict resolution skills.
“Jun pushed me down during gym class,” he says, spooning up the chicken soup with his left hand. I want to look him in the eyes, but he keeps his head down, continuing to sip his soup.
I know Jun. Despite his frequent clashes with his mother, he’s a gentle child. Having sat next to Ming for nearly two years, they’ve never fought or argued. They find common ground and accommodate each other. “What happened?” I ask.
“I attempted to convey to him that his mother is a great parent,” Ming shares. “In such circumstances, empathy is crucial. Ming is simply very disappointed that his closest friend can’t comprehend his pain.”
“We’ve always empathized with him,” I say.
Ming sips his soup and digs into his chicken.
“We’ve never accused him of ingratitude,” I add.
He glances up at me. “His mother attributes all the family’s misfortunes to his poor grades.”
“Because everyone around her blames her, suggesting that her excessive control over her son has led to his teenage rebellion.”
“That’s just a differing perspective,” Ming says. “Perhaps Jun simply desires affirmation from his mom instead of constant suppression.”
“His grades continue to decline, what can his mother affirm?” I ask. “Should she indulge him?
Ming quotes Confucius: “‘Do not be resentful or hesitant to guide. If you guide, do so wholeheartedly.’ This indicates Confucius believed education should inspire students’ intrinsic motivation and be enlightening.”
“That’s indeed an educational ideal,” I respond, “but challenging to implement in reality. Aren’t you upset with Jun?”
“We’ll reconcile tomorrow,” Ming says, his voice trembling slightly. “He didn’t mean it; he’s just disappointed.”
Approaching him, I pat his head. His hair is dense, akin to a newly crafted brush: rough yet naturally soft. He insists he doesn’t require a trip to the barber; a crew cut from me suffices, as his hair grows rapidly, needing monthly trims without the need to waste money.
I purchased a complete set of barber tools, including scissors, a comb, and a barber cape, and learned haircutting techniques from various videos. After a year of practice, I can effortlessly give him a neat and spirited crew cut in just fifteen minutes.
Turning to the cabinet, I retrieve a bottle of disinfectant and a few bandages. When attending to minor injuries, I always aim to be thorough yet gentle. I take Ming’s hand, and the abrasion on his palm becomes more visible under the light. “It might sting a bit,” I caution him. Unscrewing the cap of the disinfectant, I soak the cotton ball and touch his wound.
Ming’s fingers tremble. He raises his head, traces of tears still evident in his eyes.
Taking out the bandage, I cover the affected area. Once again, I stroke his head. “It’s okay. Mom is proud of you.”
Copyright © 2024 by Huina Zheng
