( 8:03 AM ) teahouse
A Tribute to Mom
My mom has not had an easy life. When my parents came to the U.S. in the 1970s, my mom had to work some menial jobs to help my dad through graduate school.
Among her jobs were bank teller, hotel maid, and janitor. She was a college graduate; I'm sure it was hard for her in a strange country. Her supervisors exploited her because she was an ignorant foreigner. Her coworkers were mean to her.
I remember one job in particular. She worked for the city newspaper, putting inserts into the Sunday paper. Every Saturday night into the wee hours of the morning, she stood before a monstrous pile of Sunday papers, one by one sticking glossy inserts between the sections.
Every hour she would wash her hands at the sink with Lava soap, the water turning black as the faucet gushed.
Now, when I sit in my yuppie apartment in Manhattan, paid for with my high-powered attorney salary, my latte in hand, opening the Sunday New York Times, and the ads and the New York Times Magazine fall out, I think of how hard she worked to help bring me to where I am today.
Happy Mother's Day.
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