Unconditional love

It was Career Day. Most of the first graders came donning ties, briefcases or police caps. Esther Lee wore a dress—the one with purple flowers—because her mom wore one that day, too. During presentations, when it was her turn, she rambled without hesitation. “I’m dressed like my mommy. She goes to the store and sells stuff. And sometimes I go to work with her and stand in the front and yell, ‘Come into the store! Come in!’” Her classmates smiled and clapped. The girl beamed innocently. She was her mother’s child.

One moving day and three siblings later, she saw less of her parents and more of her chores. Suddenly, Esther had responsibilities. At eight, she would watch her friends racing around on their bikes well into the afternoon and didn’t understand why they were separated by that pane of glass. She resented her parents for never being home and for asking her to give up so much. Her selfish nature never asked why her parents were gone so much.

The girl moved even further from her parents. When her mother took her to middle school Open House, Esther felt like everyone was looking down on her. As the oldest in the family and with her mom unable to speak English fluently, neither knew what to do and both felt incompetent. To make matters worse, they had arrived late and created a scene. Esther felt exposed and didn’t look at her mother the rest of the night. From that point on, she made excuses so that her parents didn’t even have to look at the school. “Yes, there’s a PTA meeting, but no one goes to them. It’s not required,” or “The chorus concert will be really long and boring. Just pick me up after it ends.”

As she stepped deeper into the grove of her youth, Esther convinced herself that her parents were unreasonable, overprotective, “old-school Asian” parents who didn’t understand the ways of America or the ways of teenagers. She used this reasoning as justification for her actions. When her friends asked her what her parents did, she always had to force out the words, “gas station,” not wanting to be associated with them. When her parents were home, she ignored the fatigue permanently etched into their features. Fights—about school, friends, babysitting—became more frequent, and in a way, Esther welcomed them. Anger was much easier to deal with than guilt. She even made her mother cry.

College arrived, and the distance became physical. Esther relished her new life, but strangely, a part of her pined for home. When she wanted home-cooked meals, the Marketplace had to do; when she needed parents’ corny jokes, websites were it; when she wanted a hug, a phone call was all she could have. Esther realized she had taken her parents for granted, and upon this profound insight, she thought herself clever and mature for having discovered it on her own. She even used it in personal essays; after all, readers ate that stuff up.

But she still did not truly know the extent of her parents’ sacrifice, of their love. That summer, Esther visited her native land for the second time in her life. Her parents had struggled when they first stepped onto American soil, having no money, no car and little ability to speak English. Unable to support the family, they had given up their newborn child to be temporarily raised by her grandmother. Esther had spent her first two years of life across the sea, while her parents attempted to gain economic stability. Her proud parents, at one point, had resorted to selling vegetables on the side of dusty roads. They had surrendered their honor, had separated with their only daughter and had sacrificed much for their family.

At the end of her summer trip, when she was reunited with her parents, Esther wanted to ask them if all of it was true. But she didn’t need to. She knew.

KutiePi: mom said ur a good daughter