“I am not doing these dishes,” Maria snapped at her mother. “Look at them – dried turkey and dressing and yams all over them. Has anybody around here ever thought of buying a dishwater?”

Camilla Lopez regarded her sixteen-year-old with skeptical eyes. “Have you decided you’re too good to do these dishes? That private school is turning you into a snob, young lady.”

Maria glared at her mother. “You’re always going on and on about my school. Why did you even apply for that scholarship so I could go there?”

Camilla put on her apron and handed one to her daughter. “Let’s do these together. It’ll give us time to talk.”

Reluctantly, Maria took the red and white gingham apron, the one her grandmother had made to wear for this special cooking occasion – Thanksgiving – in their new country. “Why can’t my brothers do this work?” she grumbled. “We’re still living in the Dark Ages, Mama. Don’t you realize that?”

The older woman slipped her hands into the warm sudsy water and began washing plate after plate while Maria got a dishcloth and started to dry. “I know it’s frustrating,” Camilla said quietly, “watching your father and brothers lounge in the living room after the meal, but don’t forget, chica, they work from sun up to sundown every day to provide this home and this food.”

Marie sighed. Yes, she knew this was true. Her father was the foreman of a landscaping company and her older brothers, already out of high school, worked on his crew part-time while they took classes at the local community college. “But you work hard, Mama, cleaning everyday and I work hard at school. Couldn’t everybody pitch in so we could be done faster?”

Camilla conceded her daughter’s point. How much easier it would be if everyone took one task after this big meal. But she knew something her daughter didn’t know. What weight her husband carried – even her sons – working such long hours and still worrying about making ends meets. Alberto was a tradition Mexican man and he assumed the burden for the family’s welfare. She worked, of course, but not like him. He deserved, as did her boys, this one afternoon off. “We’ll be done soon, then there will be dessert.”

Maria watched as her mother so deftly washed the dishes, marveling at her calm spirit. “Do you wish I didn’t go to my school?”

Camilla stopped what she was doing and dried her hands. “Maria,” she said opening her arms and pulling her close, “You are the future. I want you to have what we have not had – the best of education possible. I’m grateful your scholarship allows you to go to such a fine school.”

Maria smelled the jasmine scent of her mother’s hair and rested her cheek on her shoulder. “Thank you, Mama,” she whispered. “One day I hope to make us all proud.”

Her mother stroked her cheek. “You can relax, little one. We are already proud.”