A Right to Manhood
Every Asian person can understand that once you survive a beating from your parent, you officially are indicted into manhood. For me, this story is about the time I accidentally hurt my mother after she tried to beat me.
I knew I fucked up. After calling my family dentist a money-grubbing pig for the third time, Mother's eyes stared at me with a fury so blind only the ancestors could save me now. She brings up the back of her hand, and the veins in her wrist pop out from the adrenaline coursing through them. She pauses momentarily, charging up all the chi in her body for an ass whooping of a lifetime. The violence of my mother's slap had even me, a 6'1 200 pound teenager, forcing my eyes shut and flinching in anticipation. Seconds before the moment of impact and I flex as hard as I can because my mother's slaps are equitable to the wrath of Buddha.
But this time it's different.
This time my mother's hand clenched not in rage but in pain.
I stare at Mother blankly, shocked by what just happened. Who did this to her? Why is she holding her hand and crying? It couldn't have been me. I just wanted her to know that our dentist was overcharging us.
My heart sank further as her hand now trembled from the trauma of striking me. I followed with an onslaught of "I'm sorry's", but the damage had already been done. I was expecting to writhe in physical pain, but instead, my heart twisted and churned and felt like an unclog-gable hole which was an emotion deserving only of shitty sons who hurt their moms.
Why did she suddenly seem so frail?
As I spiraled in the car, she placed her hand gently on my shoulder. "It's okay. I just forget sometimes that you're growing up." I stared at her, tears swelling from my eyelids. "You're just a strong guy now, I know you didn't mean it because you're a big crybaby, I'm not that weak am I?" she said, patting me on the back while giving me a half-hearted smile. I laughed in relief both at the outrageousness of the situation, but more importantly, her joking around meant that she was okay. Even though our dentist was charging us absurd rates deserving of all the slurs in Urban Dictionary, I apologized. I didn’t apologize for being wrong, because that’s not what the focus of this story is about. I apologized because I disrespected her. I apologized for hurting her already worn down calloused hands. I apologized because even though we didn’t have the money to afford braces, she was still willing to pay for the absurd dentist rates. Although I survived the beating, this was my true right to manhood: That day, I promised myself that I would be successful enough to take care of her when she gets older. When the fire in her eyes eventually dim down, and when her legs begin to tremble from the contact of rigid cement, her hands will finally be soft, no longer hard. I will make sure of it.
