Not right or wrong, just different
[2008-5-16]
Tag: Abalone Sauce
I remember the first time my middle son spent the night with a friend. He came home with reports of how “they” did things differently than we did. But, because of that, we now eat french toast with peanut butter and maple syrup — something we’d never even thought to try. Different doesn’t mean it’s “wrong.”
I grew up eating grape jelly on grilled cheese sandwiches, so I taught my sons to eat them that way, too. When I did daycare for two little girls, they insisted on dipping their grilled cheese sandwiches in ketchup, but that did not catch on in this household.
For many of us, discovering how others live differently happens at college. My first roommate and I got along famously. Our main differences were that she swore, she smoked and she was a night owl. I didn’t care for any of those habits, but decided that I could listen to the profanity without joining in and I could learn to sleep with a light on, but she had to learn to open a window when she smoked.
My other college roommate was from Hawaii. Her most difficult adjustment to college life was the cafeteria. How she longed for food from home. While most of us were able to get away periodically for a “Mom’s home cooking” fix, Elaine wasn’t so lucky, only getting to go home for Christmas and summer.
When she and I got an apartment, she cooked for us. Elaine never could make rice behave like it did in Hawaii, but she still treated me to some new and delicious dishes — Chicken Hekka, octopus, abalone, Kahlua pork, Kimchee, and a macaroni salad that has never been duplicated.
Before my husband and I were married, he took me to his home for a weekend, where I learned about farm life. I had a shock at mealtime, though. When it was time for dessert, out came a perfect cherry pie. I grew up in a home where pie was rarely served, and, when it was, my mom cut it in pieces so small it would last for two meals. My future mother-in-law cut her pie in sixths! Somehow, I managed to get a piece down.
Marriage is probably one of the biggest areas where we discover how different someone is and then we learn to compromise. My husband and I had discussed some things before we said, “I do.” Consequently, since one of us is a squeezer and the other a roller, we have had separate toothpaste tubes since getting married.
I think the biggest shock for my husband, though, was the first time I served ice cream for dessert. Growing up in my home, ice cream was served in small sauce dishes. In fact, my mom had a nice ice cream scoop that guaranteed each family member an equal amount of the cold stuff, thus avoiding any sibling quibbling.
About a month after our wedding, I served a bowl of ice cream to my husband. I thought he gave me an odd look, but I didn’t dwell on it as we enjoyed our bowls of ice cream. Years later, he told me that he’d grown up eating ice cream in a cereal bowl, and his family usually had heftier servings than I served. His first thought had been that I was trying to put him on a diet, but after visiting my parents and being served ice cream in a small bowl, he realized it was another one of those compromises he had to make.
The world would be a very boring place if we all did things the same. I, for one, am glad I have been exposed to different ways of doing things and am also grateful that I learned that my way is not necessarily the “right” way.
I remember the first time my middle son spent the night with a friend. He came home with reports of how “they” did things differently than we did. But, because of that, we now eat french toast with peanut butter and maple syrup — something we’d never even thought to try. Different doesn’t mean it’s “wrong.”
I grew up eating grape jelly on grilled cheese sandwiches, so I taught my sons to eat them that way, too. When I did daycare for two little girls, they insisted on dipping their grilled cheese sandwiches in ketchup, but that did not catch on in this household.
For many of us, discovering how others live differently happens at college. My first roommate and I got along famously. Our main differences were that she swore, she smoked and she was a night owl. I didn’t care for any of those habits, but decided that I could listen to the profanity without joining in and I could learn to sleep with a light on, but she had to learn to open a window when she smoked.
My other college roommate was from Hawaii. Her most difficult adjustment to college life was the cafeteria. How she longed for food from home. While most of us were able to get away periodically for a “Mom’s home cooking” fix, Elaine wasn’t so lucky, only getting to go home for Christmas and summer.
When she and I got an apartment, she cooked for us. Elaine never could make rice behave like it did in Hawaii, but she still treated me to some new and delicious dishes — Chicken Hekka, octopus, abalone, Kahlua pork, Kimchee, and a macaroni salad that has never been duplicated.
Before my husband and I were married, he took me to his home for a weekend, where I learned about farm life. I had a shock at mealtime, though. When it was time for dessert, out came a perfect cherry pie. I grew up in a home where pie was rarely served, and, when it was, my mom cut it in pieces so small it would last for two meals. My future mother-in-law cut her pie in sixths! Somehow, I managed to get a piece down.
Marriage is probably one of the biggest areas where we discover how different someone is and then we learn to compromise. My husband and I had discussed some things before we said, “I do.” Consequently, since one of us is a squeezer and the other a roller, we have had separate toothpaste tubes since getting married.
I think the biggest shock for my husband, though, was the first time I served ice cream for dessert. Growing up in my home, ice cream was served in small sauce dishes. In fact, my mom had a nice ice cream scoop that guaranteed each family member an equal amount of the cold stuff, thus avoiding any sibling quibbling.
About a month after our wedding, I served a bowl of ice cream to my husband. I thought he gave me an odd look, but I didn’t dwell on it as we enjoyed our bowls of ice cream. Years later, he told me that he’d grown up eating ice cream in a cereal bowl, and his family usually had heftier servings than I served. His first thought had been that I was trying to put him on a diet, but after visiting my parents and being served ice cream in a small bowl, he realized it was another one of those compromises he had to make.
The world would be a very boring place if we all did things the same. I, for one, am glad I have been exposed to different ways of doing things and am also grateful that I learned that my way is not necessarily the “right” way.
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