First Words with Dad

Mothers, please strive to love your children. The first memory I have of my father and I talking is from when I was three-years-old. My mother had just tried to get me, a burn victim, to wash the dinner dishes in scalding hot water. I had older brothers, but not much older. Mom had three children in less than three years, the first two being sons she adored. Since I was the girl, she expected I'd take over household chores, even at this tender age. In my memory I'm standing on a stool at the sink. Dirty dishes piled on my left, two tall pots of water in the sink in front of me, one piled with suds, and a space on the counter cleared for drying. I'm crying because the water is too hot, making my arms burn and they're turning bright red all the way up to my armpits. I asked Mom if she could please cool the water down for me, but in my young mind it seemed like she didn't understand me, making me cry harder in frustration. Dad entered the room, asked what was going on. I'm pretty sure I was blubbering, but when I told him the water was too hot he seemed to understand. Yet I was uneasy when he insisted that I get down off the stool. I asked him for another task. I had the sense I needed to make myself "useful." He told me to sit in the corner and read a book while he took Mom into the bedroom where they had a talk. She was angry when she came out of the room. Dad was quiet. He sat in a chair in the living room, I was still trying to read that book, but was too upset and probably too young. I approached him and asked him while I cried; "Why doesn't she love me?" I never felt her love. He tried, but failed to assure me that she loved me. I asked what I could,do to earn her love and he told me I'd better stay out of her hair as much as I could. I took to staying outside after breakfast until Dad came home from work in the afternoon, although I'd come in for lunch and eat with Grandpa. I became quite a lonely girl in spite of having siblings, two parents, a grandfather and an uncle at home. Later I learned Dad had forbidden Mom to discipline me. It was only a few years ago when I was fifty that Mom called me on the telephone; "We had to buy a dishwasher because you wouldn't wash the dishes." The memory came flooding back, overwhelming me with sadness. After all these years it seems she still thinks it's appropriate to make a three-year-old do the dishes in scalding hot water. I am blessed to have had my father's love. He wasn't altogether effective as a parent, but I know he loved me.