The Potholder
I was probably 6 or 7. Had to beg "you know who" for the loom and the loops, and spent maybe half an hour working at it, but I gave my Mom a potholder. A potholder? She gave me life, put up with my crying and demanding feeding schedule, spent every day worrying about my safety, and I gave her a potholder? She skillfully sewed my clothes, saw to it that I got all the help I needed to learn how to read, and had lunch ready for me every day when I came home from elementary school, and I gave her a potholder? She took a part time job, and sacrificed things she may have liked to have had for herself so that I could go to college, and I gave her a potholder? Well, I may have suffered hangnails on two fingers getting those loops over the metal pegs, and I did choose her favorite colors, yes, they were so thin you really couldn't use them to pick up a hot pot, but she said it was lovely. Hundreds of meals she prepared for me, thousands of complaints she listened to, unconditional love and wisdom she offered when I did something stupid, and I gave her a potholder. Happy Mother's Day, Mom. I miss you, and I know now that you were worth much more than a homemade potholder.