I was as vain as anybody else as a young person. I bought expensive handkerchiefs, such as the one shown in Exhibit A. And then, because I used them a lot, my mother one day bought me some hankies, such as the one in Exhibit B, from the market, where she went daily. I absolutely abhorred them—terrible design, poor quality, cheap-looking things—but, somehow, I never got rid of them.
There were some periods in my life when I used paper towels or tissues for convenience. When I finally reverted back to using hankies, I took out the handkerchiefs that my mother had bought me—and I use them. Not for a moment do I feel embarrassed about these unappealing handkerchiefs. They are not soft to touch, even after repeated washing, but they are functional, nonetheless. They were given to a daughter out of a mother’s love.
As I use them now, I think of the daily trips my mother made to the wet market close to home, to see what was fresh and enticing, to plan meals and buy food for her family. I picture that, one day, she came across some hawkers in the market selling handkerchiefs, and she thought of her daughter and believed that she should buy some for her. She looked through the stock and chose a couple that she thought were pretty. She must have been pleased that she had found something useful to give to her daughter.
She must have been somewhat disappointed that her little present was received with a somewhat indifferent, at best lukewarm, response. But my mother would not remember that now. It was one of a million things that, like all mothers, she did for her children.
Age offers people many advantages, one of which is giving us sufficient distance to adopt a broader perspective when appraising the true value of things in life.
For Reflections on Nursing Leadership (RNL), published by the Honor Society of Nursing, Sigma Theta Tau International.
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