Part 1The Drumstick Dilemma

I bought four fried chicken drumsticks. My son ate two.

Seeing me reach for one, his face turned red with anxiety. "Why didn't you save any for Dad?"

I was confused. "Isn't there one left for him on the plate?"

He looked like he was about to cry, reaching out to snatch the drumstick I had already taken a bite of. "Can't you just save two for Dad?!"

I froze.

In his eyes, the chicken I bought with my own money, the chicken I cooked with my own hands... I wasn't even qualified to eat it?

* * *

I couldn't believe my ears. This was the son I raised with my own hands.

Maybe he didn't count correctly.

I explained gently, "There were four in total. You ate two, I'm eating one, and there's one left for Dad."

But he dodged the logic completely. "Then why didn't you tell me?"

I was bewildered. "Tell you what?"

He raised his voice, shouting, "You should have told me before you ate it! Otherwise, how would I know you were going to eat one!"

I still didn't quite get it. "I'm just eating a drumstick. Do I need to file an application with you first?"

His face flushed with anger. "What is wrong with you? Don't change the subject! Answer my question! Why didn't you save it for Dad?"

I pointed to the plate. "I did. See? There's one right there."

He acted as if he had suffered a great injustice, wiping away tears aggressively. "Why didn't you save two for him?!"

I was stunned.

It wasn't that he couldn't count.

Suppressing my anger, I asked him, "So you think Mom doesn't deserve even a single drumstick?"

He didn't answer. Instead, he stiffened his neck, face red, and looked at his father with heartache.

"Dad works so hard every day. Of course he should eat more chicken! You can just eat whatever else is there. Why do you have to fight him for it? Can't you stop being so selfish..."

Hearing this, my husband, Mark, grinned and pushed the plate with the remaining drumstick toward our son.

My son immediately pouted, eyes redder than ever, looking even more aggrieved.

I finally realized what was happening.

Looking at the child I had nurtured bit by bit, I said in disbelief:

"So Mom isn't working hard? Mom has a job too. Mom does all the housework. Mom takes care of you. Does Mom not work hard? Does Mom not deserve a drumstick?"

He said nothing, just kept wiping his tears.

Seeing the situation escalate, Mark finally decided to open his mouth and play the peacemaker.

"Alright, alright, Maya. Why are you bickering with a child? He's just a kid, he doesn't know anything. He's just joking with you."