My Favorite Dish

Happily married for 40 years

Every single day, my father stays by my mother's side. Even once he is done with his work day and could drive home, he would rather spend every evening with my mother until she closes her store. They aren't necessarily happy throughout the entire day, but they are happy everyday. They have been married for forty years, and my father still looks at my mother like she is ice cream...

I hardly ever heard my parents arguing, not even over small things. Their love is serene to the point that anyone could live with them and never wanted to leave...my uncles, cousins, my grandmother...Everyone lived with them.  My mother taught me that when there is love, there is always enough space, enough food, enough money. They would always make it work somehow.

I always admired my parents. I admired their courage, their strength to rebuild their entire life since they fled Cambodia.  They are the hardest workers I know. They worked their entire life, extreme long hours so they could offer my brother and I, the same comfortable lifestyle they had before immigrating to Canada. My mother sacrificed her entire life for us and it cost us her warm presence since she was always stuck at the store. She was gone fifteen hours a day, seven days a week. She worked so hard to be able to send both my brother and I to private school since kindergarten all the way to college.

Growing up, I missed having a mother greeting me coming back home from school, helping with homework. Most of the time, she was already gone when I woke up and she'd be back while I was deep asleep. I would feel her love through the garage door vibrations when they left in the morning. My room was right on top of the garage. And at night, I knew she'd come peek at me sleeping when I would squint my eyes from the light penetrating my bedroom. I would feel her staring and smiling while watching me sleep.  Depending if I had a test the next day, I would wake up and go to their room to talk about our days until they would kick me out of their bedroom.  I would try to stay just ten minutes more but she would chase me out since it was getting so late and I remembered enjoying this little thrill, this tiny glimpse of playfulness with my mother.

My father was very affectionate and would easily demonstrate it with a kiss on my forehead before I went to bed (he still does when I go back to visit them...I know this will seem odd to most of you but I made sure this ritual didn't leave even though I have become an adult woman...I wanted him to know I was always his little princess). My mother didn't give hugs or any kisses. On rare occasions, we would receive a sniff on the cheek, also known as Asian kiss. I would hear her presence over the telephone, about twenty times a day. She always cared about what we ate, wanted to eat, how much we ate. Her love for us was expressed through the kitchen. She would surprise us with yummy treats and eating out with my parents felt like Christmas since it was so rare they had extra time to take us out.  Food was my mother's way of communicating her emotions. She would never say she is sorry but after a conflict, I would find my favorite dish on the table or served for the next meal. This is how we felt she cared. Even though I live far, my mother cooks enough food that will last us for months and  freezes her love in little containers that I bring back home from every visit.  I get to taste the comfort of my mother and grandmother's food all through the year. We always addressed issues right away and would never stay angry for a long time. We are like a water kettle that boils fast but calms down instantly just on time to sip a nice cup of warm tea and savor our favorite dish...

Forty years of love and my father still looks at my mother like she's ice cream...