My stomach packed to the brim, I balance my plate upon a leaning tower of pots, pans, plates, and utensils. I knew it was ultimately going to be me doing the cleaning up, but I knew I would have to wait a little bit more before I could start the dishwasher. The time had escaped me, and after an unreasonable amount of time passed of me dawdling on my iPad, I began to will my self to the dishes. Without wasting any more time than I already had, I began to load the dishes in anticipation of my dad telling me to do so. With the last plate in its place, I click the start button and immediately after I hear the water streaming down to the dishes, and working its magic. All of a sudden, my dad tells me to open the dishwasher gate. The more he insisted, the more I began to pull on the gate till it was finally open, then he tells me to hand wash the dishes. After some back and forth conversation, I had realized there was nothing I could do; if I resisted, I would be subject to an inauspicious punishment, and I was not trying to dig myself into a whole, so I obliged, and painfully so.

You could say that I learned how to wash dishes better after taking up that chore because, after that, I was never allowed to use the dishwasher. Though I know, that wasn’t why he instructed me so randomly. He did it to show me what my job is; to follow his instructions, and he did it to show me where my place is, under the roof of his house. Inciting in me the will to exact my own revenge.

The most fundamental lessons are passed on through generations.