In my house, I’m required to do two things, and I get paid for one of them. I wash the laundry gratis and I mow the lawn for money. It’s not a bad arrangement, and I liked it just the way it is. But my dad, brilliant as always, decided I needed to “grow up” – in other words, I needed to start learning how to do new things.

He chose the dishes as a good “starting point” for the beginning of my path to self-sufficiency. Sitting me down one day in a chair, he pursed his lips together and told me I needed to be more independent, and for me to do the dishes.

Yippee.

And so it was that, two hours later, I found myself putting on my mom’s overly large apron, decorated with giant flowers and pictures of dogs. I was holding a large sponge in my hand, the other gripping the water faucet knob.

And my eyes? Staring straight down at that giant pile of bowls and plates that my dad had called “the dishes”. If you could call them dishes.

Each plate and bowl was covered in rice, bits of chicken, and little itsy annoying garlic and spice bits. Then there was the coat of oil on every plate. And this was multiplied by not five, not ten, but two sinks full of dishes, all stacked carefully to the brim!

I looked at my dad. He just smiled at me, patted me on the back, and told me it wasn’t going to be as hard as it looked. I sure hoped so. It looked like it was going to take forever. He pulled up a chair and sat down, watching me as I slowly began, pointing out my mistakes.

Yet after a few minutes, I began to get used to it. With the TV turned on next to me, I watched as my hands moved rhythmically across the plates, first scrubbing them, then rinsing, then wiping them clean, then rinsing again…

In thirty minutes I was done. I looked at the rows and rows of plates sitting in the dishwasher. We left them there for the night, and the next morning they would be dry. What had been a mountain of dirty dishes were now clean plates.

I just smiled.

–

The next morning the sun shone in with a brilliance that woke me up. I went downstairs to eat my breakfast after changing. My dad was already awake, making me a delicious breakfast. I sat down and swallowed a gulp of my egg drop soup.

That was when I remembered: I had washed this bowl. I looked at it. It was spotless. I grinned, and took another gulp. It never tasted better.