Mom, Dad, Consider This Your Certificate of Appreciation

Posted on January 31, 2009
Filed Under Daily, Family, Little Sabreen | 6 Comments

Ever since The Boss and I got married, we’ve been sharing everything.
(Well, not everything. I would NEVER share my toothbrush).
But everything else in our home belongs to each of us equally.
We don’t label food when we bring leftovers home from dinner, we don’t have specific plates we eat off of, or cups we drink out of. A dollar on the table is a dollar for whoever needs it, and even the really awesome G2 pens The Boss bought for work are up for grabs.
Of course there is a courtesy and respect with which you make use of someone else’s belongings, but overall, whether you like it or not, marriage is definitely a joint union.

In my family, my parents instilled the values of giving and sharing in my sister and me from a very young age. At dinner, if there was only one piece of decedent, mouth-watering, covered-in-sugary-syrup piece of Indian dessert left, we had to offer it to everyone else at the table before we shoved it in our mouth, and then licked the plate clean. And if someone (ahem, your sister) wanted to split it, you better cut it fair, because she got to pick which piece was hers.

I’m happy that my parents taught us the value of giving to others before hoarding for one’s own personal gain. I think it’s because of those life lessons early on that I’m not obsessed with things being “mine.”

I mean, don’t get me wrong. I have things I don’t want anyone to look at, let alone touch. I’d probably murder someone if they came within four feet of my WWF Collector’s Edition Ultimate Warrior doll, but other than that, I never like, spaz out when The Boss uses my hairspray (which he does).

Growing up, our family had a tradition where every Friday we went out to dinner. Each week, a different person got to pick a new restaurant, and when you’re food came, it was customary to offer what you got to everyone else before you started eating.
I still do that to this very day.

There were a zillion times when I didn’t like my order, and my mom or dad would switch with me. And since wasting food was a huge taboo in our family, even if what I ordered tasted like grass, whoever took my dish would finish every last bite.

I guess I never realized how much my parents sacrificed for my sister and me until I got older. And it sucks that your parents don’t get the credit they deserve until they’ve slaved for like 25 years, but I guess that’s just sort of the law of life. That’s how long it took them to appreciate their own parents, so in time, they’ll get their Certificate of Appreciation, too.

I’m not a mom yet, but a few years ago, when my cousins moved here with their three small children (at the time 5, 2, and 1) I got a first-hand glimpse of what it means to be a parent.

One morning, the little one’s were scrambling around the living room. I got some cereal for myself, and sat at the table by the sliding glass door where I always ate my breakfast.
From around the corner, huffing and puffing, a baby came racing toward me on her hands and knees.

I smiled

She stared.

I ignored.

She stared.

Then she licked her lips, and swallowed. Her eyes were fixed on my cereal.
Barely able to stand yet, she used my legs for balance, and fought to stand upright.
Her head came to my knees.

“You can’t have this,” I said.

She stared.

“Oh, yeah, she can eat that,” her 5-year-old sister said. “Mama let’s her.”

Dammit kids.

I gave her a tiny spoonful of my cereal, hoping she would leave, but kids are like animals. If you give a dog one scrap of food at dinner, they’ll sit and wait for hours by the table until you give them another.

So I gave her some more cereal, and then some more, and then some more. Until finally, that little pest finished my whole breakfast.

Later that same afternoon, I mixed some fresh fruit with yogurt and sat in the kitchen.
I was finally alone.

Just as I was about to start eating, the 5 year old pops into the kitchen.

“Hey Sib.”

“Hey Huff.”

“What are you eating?” she asked as she pulled out a chair three times her size, climbed it, and sat next to me.

I thought about saying, “glass and nails,” so she’d lose interest, but instead I opted for the truth.

“Fruit and yogurt,” I said.

“Mmm.”

Now she’s staring at my bowl.
And licking her lips.
And dammit, those eyes.

“Want some?” I groaned.

“Sure!”

See, when you’re little, you don’t have that concept of wanting something so bad, but seeing that someone else is enjoying it so much, that when they offer you some, you politely say, “no thanks.”

She jumped off the stool, grabbed a spoon, climbed back up the chair, and scooted so close to me our legs were getting tangled under the table.
Within minutes, her mouth was covered with yogurt, and little pieces of apricot, and my stomach was rumbling.

It’s not that I’m a stingy person, and from an Islamic perspective, I know that everyone’s sustenance has been written. So I can’t exactly be annoyed for small, helpless, innocent, children wanting a bite of my sandwich. But this was all so new to me. These little tots paraded into my life and made me love them.
I had no choice!

As time went on, and we all got more used to each other, I was amazed to see how suddenly, I wanted to share everything I had. I would call out to the oldest when I was making a snack, and I would seek out the two little one’s to offer them my breakfast.

And then it hit me: Throughout my whole life, my parents were absolutely, undeniably selfless — but the strange twist was that they liked it.

As a kid, I would finish the last of my dad’s favorite Hagaan-Daz coffee-flavored ice cream (from his bowl), and eat the whole bag of peanuts he would sit down with to watch football on a Sunday afternoon.
On Saturday mornings, when my mom ritually made her toast and tea, I would pretty much scarf down the whole thing, leaving her little more than crumbs.

As kids, you take what belongs to your parents. I mean, you borrowed your mom’s body for nine months and sucked out all her energy, vitamins, minerals (and in some cases her will to live) didn’t you?

In high school you always asked your dad for money for the movies and the mall, and begged your mom for that over-priced handbag at Banana Republic, and that super cute T-shirt from Armani Exchange.

I, like most kids, always took, without regard or remorse, what belonged to my parents. But I cannot remember even a moment of a moment in my life, where they looked unhappy when they gave me the things they loved.

And World, EVERYONE loves food.

So listen, Mom, Dad, thank you, and I love you guys.
And since we’re not a family of penguins, or flamingos, or like any other species of bird where I can regurgitate all that great stuff I took from you, and give it back, I hope this post is enough to let you know that I appreciate everything you did, and continue to do for me.

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