Love is passed on...

(Baonghean) -My parents worked in a far away district. When I was 1 year old, I was sent back to my hometown to be taken care of by my grandmother. My childhood grew up with rice water with a little sugar, white porridge with a little minced meat, rice cakes dipped in honey that my grandmother bought; with lullabies, happy old stories that my grandmother told; with the blue sky, the rows of red-flowered hedges with red silk thread, and the small square-tiled yard where my grandmother taught me to take my first steps; with the sweet, yellow canh gioi fruits like corn kernels, the sweet, red-purple plums on the green canopy of trees... By the pond, every afternoon I still sat waiting for my grandmother to go to the village market. The red road ran long, across the fields, towards the mountains. I often cried, and my grandmother still said that tomorrow my father and mother would go on the way back to buy lots of candy for the "cotton".

Parents returned to the city to settle down. I left my grandmother's arms, away from the smell of straw, and went to the city kindergarten. The tiny wooden clogs my grandmother carved, I still walked in for the next 2 years. Family life gradually improved, meals now had meat. Grandma loved me and sometimes asked my aunt and uncle to send me cakes, chicken,the ducks my grandmother raised in the countryside. But I still remember so much the bowl of pumpkin soup with shrimp, the plate of golden omelettes my grandmother fried without MSG and with the flavor of fish sauce. Until now, I still love those dishes very much.

At each meal, she ate very little, just a small bowl. I was so young that I was very “afraid” of the full bowls of rice that she served me. My “fear” came from my anorexia - that’s the case with all 5-6 year old children. At each meal, I ate slowly, not concentrating, but I was afraid that my parents would scold me for eating slowly and spilling rice on the chair, on the mat… I still remember one day not too long ago: At dinner, my grandmother served me a full bowl of rice. Afraid of missing the “Little Flower” program at 7pm. Receiving the bowl of rice from her, I snapped, “Why did you serve it all?” In response to my rude words, my grandmother just kept silent. After the meal, my father beat me, and she kept asking for a whip for me!

A little older, educated, and hearing more stories from my grandmother. I understood the full bowl of rice she still served… In the past, she was known as the daughter of a wealthy family, but her bowl of rice was only half full, the main ingredients were dried sweet potatoes cut into slices. Each piece of sweet potato had three or four grains of rice stuck to it. The main food was fish sauce and salt, and the shrimp that she managed to catch in the pond were rare… On Tet, my grandmother, my father, my aunt, and my uncle also had banh chung and banh tet. But inside the banana leaves and the thin layer of sticky rice were sweet potatoes and cassava. The filling for the spring rolls was made of meat removed from beef and pork bones mixed with vermicelli and wood ear mushrooms. Giving her rice to her children and grandchildren, she still worked hard in the fields and ran to the market with an empty stomach.

Now, Grandma is gone. Her great-grandchild, who is also my child, is the same age as the naughty grandchild who once scolded her. At every meal, I no longer serve her a full bowl of rice. I know that an empty bowl of rice is always easier for children to eat. Food and clothing are no longer a concern, but I do not allow her great-grandchild to spill any grain of rice - the grain of rice that comes from the hard work of those who work hard to make it. Each grain of rice contains a little bit of love, a meaningful lesson that Grandma has for her children and grandchildren, right Grandma?

Thanh Son