"I sincerely hope, when you have children, they turn out just like you."
But hey, wouldn't it be great to have a kid turn out like me? I mused. Fun-loving, intelligent, graceful beyond comparison and chock-full of natural talent. Parents sold their souls for this type of glorious prize package all the time. Oh sure, I'd have my less-than-perfect moments, but they were staged merely for the purpose of forcing my mother to appreciate those quiet times all the more.
I think my mother actually crinkled her nose and smiled after she cursed me. She may have even laughed aloud. I stumbled away, ignorant and carelessly tossed her comment into the breeze.
That insignificant breeze changed direction recently and transformed into a gale of hurricane-proportioned gusts, just when I had decided that perhaps I could actually hear my biological clock ticking (barely audibly) off in the distance. I met my former self - a reincarnation in the form of a sullen twelve-year old in a pink Pokemon-adorned puffy jacked and with an insatiable appetite for the word, "no."
"Do your homework."
She'd bite her lips until they turned white. "Mmm. Mmm!" She'd nod defiantly.
"Do your homework," I'd repeat, a little sterner this time.
"NO!" she'd blurt out. She liked to stamp her feet and pound her fists on the table, just for added effect. "I hate math!"
My choices at this point would be limited to the following:
I suppose this all stemmed from a mistake I made early in the semester. I was fairly naive about "problem child" behavior: I let her run all over me. I coddled her when she was uninterested in her math problems and just sat and talked with her instead. I fell prey to the new-age notion of paying attention to the emotional health of the child. Spare the rod and spoil the child, right?
Despite all the pleading and the threatening, she still managed to get the best of me every time. A quarter page of equations completed was a major accomplishment in my book. I began to complain about her to my colleagues, who were only too happy to point out that I was a "softie." In desperation, I telephoned my mother who, instead of easing my sorrow, laughed at me so hard that tears streamed down her face. "Now you know!" she managed to say, in between chokes and guffaws. "Now you know what it was like for me all those years ago." She hung up on me.
I think I shrieked at that moment, the realization that I had assumed my mother's role and that a pig-tailed waif half my size had bested me at my own game sinking into my utterly frustrated heart.
A few more weeks of struggle went by, and I never managed to get her to do more than a few problems in the short two-hour sessions. One afternoon, the little lady's father came to pick up his daughter and a terrible, hideous solution formulated in my twisted brain ... I was going to tell him what an awful child his daughter had been at that she needed to pay more attention in class.
Yes, perhaps it would have been a low blow. It would have been the most despicable thing I would have ever done in my life - even taking into consideration all the torturous things I put my mother through. I marched up to the man, determined to carry out my treacherous plan.
He smiled at me and extended his hand. I shook it. "Mr. Chao ..." I began.
"Ms. Lin," he interrupted. "I wanted to thank you. My daughter received the results of her city-wide math test yesterday and she scored in the 90th percentile. We will be discontinuing her lessons until next fall."
My nerve lost, I could only stammer some pathetic thanks as I watched father and daughter walk out the entrance of the school. Had I won? It was difficult to say for sure.
I bolted out the door after them. "Do your homework!" I blurted. They turned around and looked at me from halfway down the street. I felt my face turn bright red and waved to them quickly before ducking back into the school.
Epilogue: Today I start with a new student - a alcohol abuser, going through rehabilitation, who needs to pass at least half his classes to graduate from high school. For some reason, I think I'll have a less stressful time with him. At least he'll be asleep half the time.
Home