Man Of The House

Another thud. I cringe. Mom has learned by now to muffle her cries. Time has taught her to swallow the pain without making much of a sound. That was a hard lesson for her. After all, the next door neighbor had intervened. And, my dad doesn’t take lightly to inconveniences. He had waited on her hand and foot for a whole week after that. He loves my mom too much. It shows. As for these things; it’s exactly like my father says, “sometimes, your mother just makes me so angry.”

A glass shatters downstairs. I wince, hoping mom doesn’t cut herself like that one time. I breathe in calmly to settle my concern and go into my bathroom. I am too short to reach it. I pull the plastic stool and climb on it, keeping a wobbly support against the door. Finally, I am able to open the medicine cabinet. There sits my ‘First Aid Box’, a school project I had made with mom’s help a few months back. Somehow, unsteadily I manage to climb down.

Walking back, I sit myself down on the bed; legs dangling impatiently as I cling to the box with both my hands. Fully prepared to run downstairs as soon as everything is silent and back to normal. I feel a sense of pride that my project will help mom heal. A small part of me feels sad too. But it happens too often; almost every time she is hurt.

I sway back and forth, lost in a drawing I made today of my family. “Man Of The House”, is the title of my drawing. Mrs. Hoult, my homeroom teacher had frowned at it. I don’t like her. Mom praised it. For her there is nothing concerning about it. My dad liked it a lot. He even promised to get a new Pokemon fridge magnet just for this drawing.

Mom can’t make dinner tonight. So, dad orders pizza with my favorite toppings. We watch cartoons as we eat. I look at how carefully my dad feeds mom, taking care that she doesn’t soil her clothes. I love watching my parents like this. My parents are perfect and they love each other. Many of my friends’ parents are not even together anymore. Who wants that, right? We watch television till late as it is Saturday tomorrow.

During breakfast, two police officers come to our house. Between crunching on my cereal, I hear mom scolding them for saying that my dad had hit her. “My husband loves me very much. He would never raise a hand at me. Please, don’t bother us again. Thank you.” She shuts the door and my parents make fun of those officers for having to work on a Saturday. I don’t understand completely what they find funny about it but I laugh too.

Every Sunday we rent a movie. Today it is my turn to choose.

“Little man of the house will pick the movie today,” my dad says, ruffling my hair.

“I am not little,” I scowl at him.

Mom laughs. I frown in disappointment. Why would she laugh?

“Aww…don’t, baby.” She settles on the couch and pulls me to sit on her soft thighs. She kisses me on the head. “You will be the man of your house one day, okay?” She reassures me gently.

“Really?” I am delighted.

“Of course,” my dad bellows, as if becoming angry.

I beam with pride and push my chest out, like a real man is supposed to. “Just like you?”

He laughs happily and picks me up, throwing me in the air and catching me. I squeal with joy. I love my parents. They are the best. I will be just like my dad when I grow up. I am only seven now, though. So, it will take some time. But someday soon, I will be the ‘Man of the house’. And I too will make a woman very happy, just like my mom is.