The Things She Taught Me

I feel the warmth of the sun as it shines through the kitchen window. It is just me and my mother in the quiet house. I feel an uncommon sense of peacefulness in this unlikely place.
My mother has just asked me to make cookies with her. This is something she's never done before. She said the recipe is from her mother and they used to make them when she was a small girl like me. I was just so happy my mother wanted me around, and not "under her feet" as she commonly scolded me. I was so excited. I couldn't wait for this new adventure to begin!

She went to the pantry and started pulling out bowls and spoons and twisting objects and something I knew was a rolling pin. After that came the flour and sugar and a whole bunch of cans and jars of all different sizes and shapes. She let me sprinkle the flour on the counter top with my childish untrained hands. Soon came the sound of the beaters mixing the thick and creamy sandy colored dough. The smells of the golden honey, sugar and molasses filled the air. The beaten mixture, which first looked milky and gooey was now turning into a smooth putty. I could not wait to touch it!

It was time now, the dough was in perfect form, my mother said. It was time to roll the dough out into sheets. She wouldn't let me do this by myself because I was too young, but I was allowed to help. She curled my tiny fingers around the wooden cylinder as far as they would reach and then she placed her hands on top of mine. I knew we were just making cookies but it felt like so much more. The tenderness, affection, kindness and care my mother offered in that moment is something I will always remember. Of course, I didn't know all of that then, but I did know I felt warm and important and loved.

The next moment became one of the worst for me. My immature hand slipped from the rolling pin and into the dough, tearing it. I tried to put my hand back under my mother's palm but she yanked hers away. In the next instant, the bowls, ingredients and cookie dough were all over the floor. She screamed at me so fiercely, Icould barely make myself stand there. "You stupid kid, you don't know how to do anything right!" She wasn't done, "I try to do something nice for you and all you do is ruin everything!". I was so frightened and ashamed. I was crying uncontrollably when she vented more anger at me. "I wish I never had you; your father was the smart one, at least he got away!" I wanted to say "mama I'm sorry my hand slipped", but I was too afraid.

I don't know all of what I felt at that moment. I just remember being confused. I do remember wondering, , if my parents didn't want me, then who did. It's a terrible thing how words like that can follow you throughout life and leave you pleading silently, " Somebody please want me... "