HHC Blog

The ultimate measure of a man is not where he stands in moments of comfort and convenience, but where he stands at times of challenge and controversy.
— Martin Luther King, Jr.

(You can see more of Dr. King’s quotes and wonderful photos at Robin’s blog.)

I am not a brave person. I wasn’t brought up to be one. I was born in one of those gray periods in Chinese history. Leaving Mainland China and relocating to Taiwan, people faced a lot of uncertainties. Separating from their families (parents, siblings…), they carried a huge load of sadness and guilt. My parents, I believe, had made a conscious decision not to talk about their past. I didn’t hear a thing about my grandparents until I turned 40. I must have sensed something that was not quite right. Ever since I was little, even though nothing bad had happened, I had this unsafe feeling deep inside. Conflicts and controversies frightened me.

Because I am not brave, I particularly admire courageous people like Martin Luther King Jr., Rosa Park… etc. I wish I could/would be like them.

Still, when my daughter told me she was going to participate a march for women’s right, my instant reaction, in my head, was, “Oh no.”

Demonstration was not allowed when I grew up. One could be put in jail for doing so. Hearing what my daughter said, I paused, trying not to say anything that I would regret, and, at the same time, trying to control the fear that started running all over me.

“Really?” I finally said.

Unlike me, my daughter grew up in America. She doesn’t have any problem to stand up for her beliefs.

“Yes, I already bought the flight ticket,” she said.

We didn’t discuss further. For the rest of the week, I kept thinking about the rally, feeling somewhat uneasy. Then I remembered Martin Luther King Jr., and Rosa Park, and Nelson Mandela. I had always wondered where they got their courage and questioned “aren’t they afraid? Not even a little bit?”

For many years, I had convinced myself that they were made differently. There were people like them and people like me. Something in their DNA, it appeared to be. Now I looked at my daughter. I knew DNA wasn’t it.

I think it’s time for this mother to grow up. It’s time for me to step out of my comfort zone. I can never be like Martin Luther King or Rosa Park, but I may be able to walk next to my daughter next time.

Yes, I can picture it. 😉

Thanks for visiting my blog.

These are the chocolates from my daughter. For me, they are not just chocolates; they are more… they are art pieces; they are symbols of loving and caring. I didn’t want to eat any until one day I saw the expiration date. 😉

“(24/7) once you sign on to be a mother, that’s the only shift they offer.”
― Jodi Picoult, My Sister’s Keeper

This morning, I had breakfast at eating counter, sunshine warming my back. Life is good, I thought. Then I pictured my little girl sitting next to me. I placed my arm on the back of her chair; I could almost touch her soft skin and hear her innocent laughter.

Being a mother is my highest calling, which I take seriously.

I often watched a TV talk show while doing my “daily” (supposed to be daily) walking on the treadmill. More than once there were a mother and daughter pair on the show and when the mother said “I did all that (whatever “that” was) for my daughter”, the host responded, “No, you didn’t do that for her; you did it for yourself.”

At this point, the mother, usually, was confused. She said, “She is my daughter! I want to help her.”

The host said, “Come on, you did those things because you wanted to be a good mother. If you didn’t want to be a good mother, you wouldn’t do it. Can’t you see? You were doing those things for yourself.”

(I don’t remember the exact words, but the scenario went on like that.)

As I said, I take the role of being a mother seriously. It’s hard to hear someone else tell me what’s in this mother’s head. It’s particularly hard if this someone has never been a mother “himself”. Giving that he is a well-known and respectful person, I pondered on his words for a while. Even though toward the end I still couldn’t fully agree with him, I began understanding what he was thinking that there is this “me” in everything we are doing.

The show went on. Toward the end, the host looked into the daughter’s eyes and said, “I want to help you. Would you please let me do this (whatever this was) for you?”

Umm… Mr., you don’t mean you are going to do something for her, do you? If we, mothers, only do things for ourselves, how is it possible for anyone does anything not for himself but for someone else?

At this point, I probably should explain something here. I have noticed that for many people logic is like a piece of brick – either they get it or they don’t. For me, I don’t know why, logic is like a brick wall and if any brick piece doesn’t line up perfectly, I get confused. So, I am not trying to criticize the host; I simply need an explanation.

The sun is still shining. I ate the last piece of chocolate… so yummy.

Nothing is better than being a mother.

On second thought, I don’t need any explanation from anyone. I’m blessed, and I am happy, and I know.

(These weekly little thoughts will be rewritten as a letter to my daughter. they will be printed and saved for her. 😉

Thank you for visiting my blog.