Ill never forget the first time I brought my wife home to meet my parents. Mum had made her famous roast, and I was a bundle of nerveslike a boy about to ask a girl out for the first time. Not because I was worried about my folks, but because of her mother.
So, dear, what do you do? Mum asked as she set down the salad.
Shes an engineer. Works for a rather large construction firm, I replied.
What I didnt say was that her mother never missed a chance to remind me of where I was from. The first time I set foot in her house, about three years ago, she greeted me with a smile that didnt quite reach her eyesa pristine suit, pearl earrings, furniture that practically screamed money.
My son tells me your mother cleans peoples homes, she said while we sipped tea. The way she said cleans peoples homes felt like she was accusing my mum of robbing banks.
Yes, I replied. Shes an honest, hardworking woman.
Of course every honest job is respectable, she muttered, though her tone told a different story. But you always want better for your childrena proper education, a profession
Im at university, I responded. Studying administration.
And who pays for that? she asked. With your mothers income?
That was the first time her son spoke up. Shes on a scholarship. One of the best in her class.
But the message had been delivered.
The next few years brought one drop of humiliation after another.
You can clear the plates, youve got more experience, shed joke at family gatherings.
Strange how a girl from your background can be so picky with food.
He could have married a doctors daughter, you know
Mum always told me, Dont pay her any mind. People like that dont change.
But I did change.
I graduated with honours, landed a brilliant job with a global company, and we got married. At the wedding, her mothers face was the picture of griefno room for protest.
Then life reshuffled the cards.
Her husbands business collapsed. They lost everythingthe house, the cars, the status. They ended up in a poky little flat, her pride crumbling along with her bank balance.
Meanwhile, my career soared. I was promoted to regional manager and we bought a beautiful house.
One day, my wife looked at me, worried.
My parents arent doing well. Mums depressed. Do you think?
Youd like them to stay with us? I finished.
I could have refused. Id have had every reason to. But I remembered my own mother, coming home tired but dignified after cleaning strangers houses for years.
Let them come, I said.
When she entered our home, something in her changed. I saw it in her eyesthe space, the light, the peace.
Its lovely she whispered.
Its your home too, I assured her.
At first, she kept to herself. Then, one morning, I found her in the kitchen, cleaning.
You dont need to do that, I told her.
She turned, tears glistening.
I was cruel. To you. To your mother. Now I understanddignity isnt about the job you do, but how you do it, and the love you carry for your family.
We hugged.
Now she cooks with my mum. They laugh together; she plays with my children.
Yesterday, while folding laundry, she said, I once mocked your mother for cleaning houses. Today, I clean here, and its the most honourable task Ive ever donebecause I do it with gratitude.
Youre not cleaning my house, I replied softly. Youre at home.
Life works in mysterious ways, teaching us lessons we most need to learn.
Have you ever forgiven someone who truly hurt youonly to realise that forgiveness freed you most of all?
