You have more than you know

I did not have much growing up. According to me, I did not have fancy clothes, amazing toys or a well-decorated home. After hanging out with my friends in the entire neighbourhood, I concluded that I was the most unfortunate child that ever existed. Ok, so I was a tad bit melodramatic, but at age six, one's perception of the world is biased and only based on tunnel vision.

I NEVER heard my mother complain. Ever. Even when she was suffering from chest pains that led to her death from a massive heart attack at age 46, she would never outright tell anyone about what was bothering her. And when I was young and complained to her about everything I did not have, she would only smile and reply,

"You have more than you know"

This answer perplexed and frustrated me. I would ask her to explain what she meant, but that is all she ever said to me when I was in a middle of a fit or arguing about what my father did not provide for me. Her way of discipline was subtle and passive. My father, on the other hand, was brash, blunt and to the point. No emotion, no sympathy, no empathy or support. It was his way or the highway.

And that was the crux of it. I blamed him for my lack of material goods because growing up, he had control over all the money. And what he gave to my mother was the issue--it was never enough.

I remember going to the store one day with my mother, who towed my sister with one hand and pushed my brother in the stroller. The main plaza was a twenty minute walk from our house. It was a cold, fall day because I remember my mother having to stop to adjust our hats and scarves. When we reached the store, I ran wild through the aisles, looking for the latest craze, which had been aired on every commerical on TV. It was a talking doll. Who knew dolls could talk? All you had to do was pull the cord and she would say various sentences. I dreamt about her nightly and knew that I must have her.

I picked up the box and ran to my mother. She was collecting diapers, formula and baby food for my brother.

"Mama! I found her! Can you buy her for me?" I was panting, out of breath from running all over the store.

"Sorry darling. I only have enough money to buy food and diapers for the baby."

She pulled out her wallet and started counting her cash. I stood quietly, and held the box to my chest. I need this doll. Every girl at school has the same doll. I had grown tired of Marie, who at this point was completely bald and had a gaping hole at the side of her body that exposed an old sock that belonged to my father.

"MAMA! Get more money from Papa then. Does he really need diapers?" I insisted pointing at my brother who was sucking his thumb and smiling at me.

My mother tried to grab the box from me but I ran off. She sighed heavily and got into line. I stood from afar and watched her count her change, pay the cashier and tie the bags to the stroller. She turned to look for me.

"Put the doll back and let's go home. I cannot afford to buy your doll. I am sorry."

I shook my head and stomped my foot. Deep down, I knew she was not the right person to have this public battle with. But I could not leave the store without the doll. I looked at my brother with contempt. He was three years old and should have been potty trained. My mother turned the stroller towards the doors and started to leave. I frantically walked over to the cashier.

"My father will come back and pay for her. I promise!" The cashier looked at me dumbfounded but was interrupted by mother who had intervened.

"Put the doll down. You cannot take it without paying. Talk to your Papa when he gets home," as she grabbed the box, gave it to the cashier and pulled me by my hood.

Needless to say, I refused to hold my sister's hand and moaned all the way home. My mother told me later that at one point, I lay on the sidewalk and asked her to run over me with my brother's stroller to end my misery. Yes, I was the ultimate drama queen--but she told me to take it up with the master of the house...my father. And that I did.

Right after he placed the last morsel of food in his mouth (since I was instructed never to speak or interrupt my father during dinner) I interrogated him with a barrage of questions.

"How much money do you make?"
"After you pay the bills, can the money leftover pay for my doll?"
"Can I not eat for one week in order for you to pay for my doll?
"Can you let Mama pay for all the bills and things we need?"
"Can I get a job and pay for my doll myself?
"Can I return all the bottles and use that money for my doll?"

My mother looked over at me emphatically and cleared the table in silence. My father sat back in his chair and picked his teeth with a toothpick--his 'after-dinner routine'. I scrunched my nose and awaited is reply. I tried to sit up straight and even placed my hands in my lap to impress him. What could go wrong? I gave him many answers on how to pay for my doll. It was a sure win for me.

"Why do you need this doll?" he implored.

"Because everyone at school has her."

"If everyone jumped off a bridge to their death, would you do the same?" I always hated this response and back then, never understood where he was going with this statement. JAB.

"Yes I would if there was a talking doll at the bottom of the bridge." My father roared with laughter and then abruptly left the table. I followed him into the family room.

"Daddy, I need this doll! She talks. You just pull the cord and she talks. Isn't that amazing?"

"I don't need to pull a cord and you talk non-stop. That is what I call amazing," he said picking up his newspaper to hide behind. JAB. I could feel the tears forming. I hated it when he would flip the argument into some kind of a comedy routine.

"I know you have the money but you won't spend it on me because you buy what YOU like. That is not fair! When I have my own children, I will buy them whatever they want because...well....because..." My father lowered the paper slowly and waited for me to finish my sentence. The drama queen was rising inside of me.

"Because why?" he said raising his eyebrow, still smiling.

"Because I will love them more!" I shouted. My father stopped smiling and called for my mother. She came around the corner, wiping her hands with a dish towel.

"Did you hear what she said? She doesn't think I love her because I do not buy her things. Tell her that money does not buy love! Tell her!" he exclaimed.

"She is right here. And you are already talking to her. You tell her," my mother said softly and left the room. I looked back at my father who was agitated. I know today that my father meant well, but back then he had trouble conveying his message, without getting his feathers ruffled.

My father ran his hands through his hair and regarded me with suspicion. His glare was always intimidating to me but I kept my feet firmly planted and glared back.

"Daddy, I promise, I will never ask for another thing as long as you buy me this doll," I pleaded. I knew I was lying but I had to make a case.

"I hear this ALL the time. Tomorrow it will be a new toy that comes on TV. You do not need this doll. Be a leader, not a follower!" JAB. He waved me off and picked up his newspaper. To make things worse, when he folded his section over, the advertisement for the doll was facing me! JAB.

"Daddy! Look, she is in the newspaper! This is the doll I want!" I grabbed the paper and pointed to her picture.

Lesson #1: NEVER grab a newspaper out of your father's hands!

My father stood up and towered over me. He snatched the paper from out of my hands.

"GO TO YOUR ROOM! You will never understand until you have your own children!" he yelled.

My mother came running into the family room and took me by the shoulders. I showed him my fist on the way out. Fight fire with fire. Yes, I did not know any better.

My mother took me to my room and closed the door.

"When will you learn?" she asked. I changed into my pajamas and angrily got under the covers while she watched. I could see she was trying to calm me down. Funny enough, it was never through words. It was through her actions. She would smile and wait. Her patience was unbelievable. She put up with my father and her strong-willed daughter and became the referee in our fights. It was her calmness that kept me sane.

She stroked my hair and waited for my huffing and puffing to stop. "You will get everything you want... but in time. Be patient. Appreciate what you have today,' she said soothingly. She put her hand on my chest. "Do you hear that? Its your heart beating. Air goes in and comes out. You are breathing. That is what is keeping you alive now. Some children have died because they have problems with their heart. Some children are very sick and they live in the hospital. They cannot run and play like you do everyday. God gave you a healthy body. You make Him sad when you don't thank him for it."

I lay in stunned silence. I never thought about it in that way. I searched her kind face for more answers.

"Maybe if I am sick, I will get all the presents I want in the hospital. Then Papa would buy me the doll!" I exclaimed with renewed energy. My mother shook her head in disappointment.

"That is a horrible thing to say! You want to be sick? How can you enjoy your toys if you are lying  in a hospital while your parents are upset with worry? Shame on you!"

She was right. And I hated to admit it. But she made sense and somehow the doll was no longer important.

Lesson #2: Hindsight is 20/20

Lesson #3: Be a leader, not a follower

Three lessons I learned from my father.

But my mother's phrase has been the only one I catch myself saying to my own three drama queens today....