Inspirational Stories (Stories to Live By)

The Bitter Leaves

My daughter at just six years old was my savior. When I married my husband, David, he was working with a very reputable company and making so much money.

"I don't want you to work. Just stay at home and take care of my children. I will provide everything you need," my husband would always say. And true to his words, he provided everything I needed.

Whenever I asked for anything, he gave it to me without any hesitation. I initially did not like the idea of me staying at home all day like a spoilt car beyond repair but when my husband did not renege on his promise and the monthly upkeep kept coming as and when due, I got used to it. I became a full housewife and ballooned into a mother whale.

I did not bother to learn a trade or invest my money in any venture. My husband was doing great. We lived in a big house with a house helper at my beck and call. What else should I ask for?

One morning as I prepared my kids for school, my six years old daughter, Sarah echoed; "Mummy, what job do you do? When my teacher asked me at school yesterday I was speechless and embarrassed.

My classmates laughed at me when I said you do nothing. They all had something to say about what their mothers do. I was the only one who said my mother doesn't do anything.

My teacher said it was wrong for people not to do anything because it shortens their life span."

When she said that, Gabriel, who was four at the time challenged rather indignantly. "But Mummy prepares us for school and sometimes cooks the food we eat. Isn't that
work?"

I felt stung by what Sarah had said and thought Gabriel was right. Sarah turned to him. "No, she cannot get her own money when she does that. She has to work and earn some money or engage in a trade so that she could make more money. What if Daddy stops to give her money? What will she do?"

I was pregnant with my third child at the time. As I wore Gabriel his uniform, my mind began to wander aimlessly. I felt like a bomb that was just seconds away from being detonated. My anger was kindled against Sarah's teacher. Why on earth would she talk to a little girl like that? Why would she tell her that people who didn't work would die young? Was that what she was paid to teach a six years old child? Was she crazy?

As I drove the kids to school that morning, my heart was filled with so much loathing and anger. I wanted to meet with my daughter's teacher and tear her to shreds. At the school gate, I inquired if the proprietress was in school.

"Yes," the gateman, a tall fellow with patches of grey hairs on his scalp nodded. "She just drove in a while ago. She should be in her office."

I handed the kids to a teacher who led them away and headed to the woman's office. Mrs. Obiageli, the proprietress was making a call when I came in. with a wave of the hand; she pointed me to a chair. And no sooner had I sat on it than she ended the call and turned to me.

"Good morning Mummy Sarah. This one that you came to see us today, hope all is well."

She was a small woman who had done so well for herself. Her school was said to have started from a one-room and blossomed into a gigantic edifice within a decade. I cleared my throat and coldly began to tell her what my daughter had told me that morning. "Why would a teacher tell a little girl a thing of that nature? My daughter has been very worried that was why she told me this morning.

Please talk to that teacher. I am terribly upset right now."
When I had finished talking to Mrs. Obiageli, she looked at me the way an elderly woman would look at her teenage daughter who had said a foolish thing and yet did not know. Holding my hands across her desk, she looked me straight in the eyes and asked;