Today I burnt my fingers.

 

It was a silly thing really.

 

I woke up, and, as usual put the kettle to boil to make the milk for my son and then noticed the lid was half open while the water came to boil. Tried to close the lid in a hurry and burnt 2 fingers.

 

It’s amazing really.

 

How much the little fellow has become such a high priority in my life. Gone are the days when I’d wake up groggily, late as usual, then meander about to the kitchen and make a cup of morning tea for me.

 

Now when I wake I look at the time, wondering if I’ve overslept his morning milk time.

 

But looking at my burnt finger, I remember the first time I did something unkind to my son.

 

It was over a lighter (yeah, one of those cheap plastic things you grab at the supermarket, just because it looks so nice sitting with its family of over a hundred others… You quickly give it to the cashier, much to the annoyance of the woman behind who wants you to finish with your bill and get lost from her life quickly. Then you come home and discover the lighter costs 250 bucks! Heck! They should price mark these things!)

 

Anyway, there my son was in the kitchen, now asking for that same lighter. And yelling at the top of his voice, effectively using the only syllable he has mastered so far; “WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!”.

 

And there I was. Holding the bright orange lighter, and answering him with the best one word communication I knew, “No no no no no”

 

“Waaaaaaa!”

 

“No”

 

“Waaaaaaa!”

 

“No”

 

“Waaaaaaa!”

 

“No”

 

“Waaaaaaa!”

 

“No”

 

In any conflict, someone had to give in. The 2 ½ year old child or the 34 year old parent? The child of course.

 

“You want this?”

 

No wah’s just a nod.

 

“Ok”, I gave it. He inspects it…

 

“Waaaaaaa!”

 

“Now what?”

 

“Waaaaaaa!”

 

“You want me to light the flame?”

 

No wah’s. Another nod.

 

“No way!”

 

“Waaaaaaa!”

 

“It will burn you”

 

“Waaaaaaa!”

 

“Ok. Fine”, I flicked the flame on.

 

And he tried to hold it, which of course burnt his fingers.

 

But I remember, before he started crying, he just stood there, and looked at me. With utter surprise on his face. It was a surprise that here was someone he trusted with no conditions, no strings attached, someone who he comes running to every time he sees, had now given him something that hurt him. All I saw in his small trusting eyes, just before the tears came, was a not silent, “How could you?” but a silent, “I never knew YOU could”.

 

I regretted the moment ever since.

 

I wish it could have been otherwise, but some day, this moment will have to come. When I will let him get hurt. Intentionally. So that he’d learn… I hope he will one day understand. Maybe he never will. I wonder if he’ll rebel, when he becomes a teenager… dunno… It scares me.

 

Again I look at my freshly burnt fingers. It doesn’t hurt so much now.

 

Now it doesn’t hurt so much.