He forbade himself to cry. But the minute he saw his mother, humming a tune as she milked the cow, the tears just poured out.
His mother turned to his quiet sobbing.
“What’s the matter, little potato?”
He always smiled at this name. His father was “big potato” and he was her “little potato,” but now… he hated it. And he hated his dad.
“They called me names again! Mom, why did you choose Dad? If I had a normal father, I would be…”
Mother handed him the milk pail and led him back to the house.
“First, you wouldn't be anything. At all. You are you because you're ours. And second… your father is the best man I’ve ever met.”
“What do you mean?”
His mother smiled. It was the faraway smile of a person casting their mind back to the past.
“Oh, you wouldn't believe it, but there were times when your mommy was wild. I was in a smuggler gang, and we even robbed people sometimes.” She sighed. “I was desperate. I thought that doing bad things was the only way to survive, since nobody in the whole world would ever care about me.”
“I care about you!”
“This was long before you were born.” Mother ruffled his hair. “One day our gang came into the caves, to grab our stash and move on… but it was a trap. We were ambushed. Our enemies were in a hurry, so they just threw our bodies into the pit, not even bothering to finish us off.”
The boy caught his breath.
“And then what happened?!”
“And then… I woke up to someone holding a torch over me. That’s when I saw him.”
“And you, like, fell in love?”
“No, I screamed bloody murder and tried to stab him. I thought he was a demon.”
The boy sighed. He wasn’t really surprised.
“But he wasn’t angry with me. He said, ‘Ah, I do the same when I catch sight of myself in a mirror.’ And then he smiled.”
His mother continued, “I don't know how to explain it, but… I’d never seen a smile like that before. Warm, sincere, a little bit sad… Maybe that was the moment I fell in love. Maybe it was when he dressed my wounds with those big yet careful hands of his, and protected me when his tribe suggested finishing what the smugglers had started. He did what nobody had ever done before: he took care of me, asking nothing in return.
“But he’s ugly... Nobody likes ugly people!”
Mother took his face in her hands.
“Remember this, and remember it well. There are ugly people in the world, yes. People who like to hurt others, people who care only about themselves, people who call others names. But your father is not one of them. To me, he is the most handsome man in the world. And his cat nose… I just can’t get enough of it!”
A dreamy expression stole across his mother’s face and she clasped her hands to her chest.
The boy laughed. He couldn’t help it. All his bitterness was gone.
“And…” his mother continued, hugging him close, her voice serious now, “he always makes me laugh. No matter how hard it is. No matter how desperate we are. Even when the whole world is against us… he’s there for me. With his strong hands. And his gentle smile. And in the end, that’s all that matters.”
“Will I grow up like him? You’re sad so often, I want to make you smile too.”
Mother kissed his forehead, right where the skin gave way to scales.
“You will, Lann. You are your father’s son, after all. My little cave potato.”
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