Filial Piety

“How can we ever tell her? How do we start?” Poppa asked with a frown, as he stretched an arm to drop his suspenders after a weary day at the store. Momma hardly paid any attention, continuing to crochet a lace doily which she had too many of already.

            “Did you hear me?”

            “Yes, go on, I’m listening.”

            Poppa had a lot on his mind. “If anything should happen to me, what will you do?...that’s what I’ve been thinking.”

            “You’re not that old, why should you be concerned?”

            “I’m thinking ahead, something you never do,” he stated adamantly while she untangled a thread without looking up.

            “We’ve done okay. You’re working and the store does well. What do we have to worry about?” she queried as she crocheted.

            “Bah, you women don’t think past the end of your nose! What if I get sick?....what if I can’t work any longer?” The conversation was going nowhere. Poppa rose and poured a glass of wine, took a sip and turned to face her again.

            “Did you hear anything I said?”

            “Every bit, what’s the problem? Many people our age are still working, besides you have to because we don’t have any savings.”

            “That just what I’m talking about. Who can we count on if the store goes?....”

            “Goes where?...is it going to run away?”

            Poppa searched for words to continue. “Well, you know how we were to our parents, we were there for them. Nowadays, this generation is different. We grew up with candlelight and had rice paddies. Now our farmers are disappearing, our rice comes from other lands…our whole country is lit up like a Christmas tree and we get an electric bill that keeps on going up.”

            “Would you rather read your paper by candlelight?” she countered. “Besides, who wants to farm anymore? Our James, do you think he wanted to farm like his uncles?....No, he wanted to get away and work in electronics. And Kim and Jessie are off on their own and they had throw-away diapers, but not me…I had to wash out the children’s diapers by hand and use them over again…but I am not bitter…that’s progress. Who wants to do hard work when there are easier ways?” she quickly asked in a mild diatribe as she resumed her crocheting.

            “You haven’t mentioned Hanna,” he said to interrupt.

            “What about her?” Momma asked.

            “Will she be around for us?” he asked, staring for an answer.

            “Should she be?”

            “I don’t think you’re listening to me.”

            “Let’s talk about just her,” Momma suggested, pausing in her work.      “Oh, I figured you’d say something like that. Look at what we did for her.”