The Hot Iron

　　When I was growing up and until I entered primary school, something bothered me that was rather personal in nature. I thought it would go away in time but it didn’t. One day I decided that I should talk to mom about it. Nothing was too personal for mom, right?

　　“Something bothered me a bit, mom.”

　　“What is it, son?”

　　“There’s a spot on my bottom that was itchy and sensitive. I tried to look at it with the help of a mirror, but I couldn’t take a good look because it’s really at an odd place. It’s fine most of the time, but it bothers me when I’m sweaty or if I sit for a long time. (That partly explained why I couldn’t sit still for more than a few minutes when I was a kid!) Do you know what it is, mom? Can you take a look, mom?”

　　“Hmmm…” She sounded like she knew what I was referring to, without even looking at it. That got me very suspicious.

　　“Well, was I born with it? What is it, mom?”

　　“Son, it happened a long time ago. I thought you’ve got over it.”

　　“I’m only 5, mom, how long ago can it be? And what happened, mom? How come I don’t remember anything about it?”

　　“Hmmm…” She was still stalling. That really piqued my curiosity!

　　“What happened, mom, please, tell me please!” This was what she told me:

　　“You were not quite a year old. You were learning to walk, but would prefer crawling on all four. You must be the fastest crawler we have ever seen. And you were such a cute baby! You dad loved to play with you whenever he could. He was tired when he returned from work (my dad worked at Whampoa Dockyard all his life), but he always spent time with you every evening. He would help me dry you after I gave you a bath. Then the two of you would play while I prepared dinner. That particular evening, I was swarmed with house chores. I did a lot of ironing right before your dad came home. I needed to start preparing for dinner, so I asked your dad to give you a bath, something he really has not done before. You probably didn’t like the idea that your dad was giving you a bath, and you kept crawling away from him, after he had managed to strip you naked. So there he was, chasing you around on the floor, laughing…” She paused and looked at me. I didn’t know how to react because I had no idea what she was leading to.

　　“For some odd reasons, your dad felt he should scare you a bit. He grabbed the iron which I had unplugged only a short while ago. He didn’t realize it was still hot, and he…”

　　“So daddy burnt my bottom with an iron!!” I screamed.

　　“He didn’t mean it, Ah Yuen!”

　　“That’s terrible, mom!”

　　“He was being foolish, but he really didn’t mean to hurt you.”

　　“That’s terrible and cruel, mom! I’m scarred for life, mom!”

　　I exaggerated of course. I was not scarred for life. Quite to the contrary, I have used dad’s sense of guilt to great effect. For a few years after I had learnt of this hot iron incident, I used it to my advantage when I negotiated with dad. Whenever I wanted something from him and he was reluctant, I would remind him of his past transgression.

　　“Dad, can we please go to ‘Lai Yuen’ Amusement Park this weekend? It’s been a long time since we went there. I missed the tiger and the elephant and the cotton-candy…by the way, you put a hot iron on my bottom when I was a baby! That’s terrible! It’s time you made up to me!” That usually did the trick.

　　My dad passed away many years ago from a traffic accident. If I had the chance, I would have told him something that I have never told him before: “I love you dad, and please don’t feel bad about the hot iron. It didn’t hurt at all…I was too young to remember!”