This is My Problem

I seem to recall a script from some insignificant Hollywood movie that quoted, ‘men are raised by their women…that is why they’re all so screwed up!” My response was…excuse me???

Chicken Rendang

Today, my husband assigned my second son to the task of monitoring our ‘rendang ayam’ (spicy chicken cooked in coconut and spice) while it simmer. This traditional Malay delicacy requires the dish to be kept on low fire until its soupy substance dries up and stick to the chicken. However, the boy was so absorbed or as the Malay call it - ‘taksub’, playing with the computer that he left the rendang on the stove to burn. Alas, his day of reckoning arrived when daddy discovered his complacency and complete lack of responsibility.

His punishment? My husband decided that he needed to clean up his mess. So, he was asked to get the burnt ‘rendang’ residue off of the ‘kuali’ (wok) or buy a new one with his pocket money. And mind you, our kitchen pots and pans are no joke! They burnt a hole in our pockets because we insist on safety and quality…so, you can imagine the size of the hole it could burn in a 9 year old’s pocket.

So, Nazyh, my son rolled up his sleeves and scrubbed the ‘kuali’. It was truly in a bad state and I felt sorry for my sweet but irresponsible baby. My heart reached out to him as he toiled and sweat over the ‘kuali’, all bony and scrawny after a month of Ramadhan, scrubbing and scrubbing and scrubbing.

It seemed to be quite a fruitless endeavor as the burnt stain stubbornly ‘laughed’ at his effort and stayed firmly on the face of the ‘kuali’. Each time he tried to wash the scrubbed burnt residue away, he wore a look of dismay as only little bits and pieces tore itself away from the surface. But, he seemed adamant. My mother, however, had enough of the torturous sight and offered to help.

To my surprise, Nazyh said, “Stop, this is my problem”, as he stopped my mother from intervening. I felt a surge of pride, but not so much at his strength; instead at his determination for taking ownership of his mistake and be responsible for his wrongdoing. As a mother, and with all my thoughts of failures, I felt that somewhere I did right by my son. It was one valuable lesson both my son and I learned, in our own ways. Him: taking responsibility, me: I taught him something good...not bad for a screwed up species (as accused by the bitter Hollywood scriptwriter).

For every successful man, there is a woman who had made him. Perhaps someday it will be his life partner. But for now, it’s mummy, and mummy is happy that she is doing a fairly good job. Too many men blame their women for their failures, but today my son just proved them wrong.

Whoever wrote that Hollywood script must have kept really lousy female company because very few mothers are willing to fail their children, neither are they willing to let their men loose their battles. And for those who were forsaken, there are tons to learn from my nine year old, or many other young minds raised by really good, strong women of substance.

I know I missed the day, but Happy Women’s Day my fellow womenfolks!