My older (20 years older) sister wanted me to peel some apples
for her one day when I was over babysitting at her home. She was
-and is- an intolerant, impatient, horrible person whom I have never
gotten along with. Never liked her. When spying the way in which I
was decapitating the apples with a paring knife, she started screaming and came
at me in a menacing manner, shouting vulgar profanities in a manner of one
deranged. I ducked and threw my arm up in anticipation of her slapping me,
but she only ripped the knife and the apple out of my hands, continuing
her rant that I did not know how to carve an apple and should not be
trusted with a knife. This is only one incident of the horrible
things she did to me while I was growing.
From that point in my life, I was frightened to learn how
to cook or bake. Even though I sat in the kitchen at the
counter trying to absorb, I never wanted to jump in with both
feet to do what my mother did while she was concocting her
delicious meals.
So I sat on the sidelines, just watching. Watching.
Until one day when my husband and myself made friends with
a wonderful couple at my church in Denver, Colorado.
Mickey & Dorothy (Dot) were the accepting, loving parents
that I never knew. Non-judgmental. Loving. Oh. Yeah.
I already mentioned that.
Dorothy loved to cook. She made great ab-fab grilled
cheese sandwiches during bible study. She invited me over
one day to learn how to cook old-fashioned hand-made
from scratch apple pies! So when it came to peeling apples,
I balked. Stopped. Full brakes.
Within my inner psyche-lived a little girl who was so frightened
of this procedure that even though she had eagerly agreed
to this cooking adventure to spend time with this wonderful
woman, she had totally forgotten that this would include
Peeling Apples. (with capital letters).
I halting and stutteringly explained to Dot that I was
never good at peeling apples, suggesting maybe she should
do the apples. But Dot brushed aside my worried, proceeding
to calmly allay my fears, working patiently with me to
peel an apple with the paring knife.
Dot shared her love with me; her patient calmness; her love
for cooking & baking; her general well-being; her acceptance
of what others could accomplish - to overcome what were
otherwise up 'til then - barriers.
Mickey was the same. Calm. Caring. Loving. Accepting. Eager
to impart his knowledge, but only if it was desired. These
people never forced, never raised their voices.
As I have aged, I have grown mellow. In my attitudes, in my
thinking, in my enjoyment of life. I have attempted to convey
this to others, even though it has been very difficult
sometimes.
The only reason that I can think that I remember this so
well I believe is the fact that one instance was so negative
and the other was so very positive - - Polar opposites of the
same exact event. Could I have become another Julia child, emeril,
Rachel Ray or Alton brown? Maybe...Maybe not. We will never know.
We will never know because that first, spontaneous thirst for
knowledge for the culinary arts was cruelly stamped out.
I can only hope that I can positively affect someone’s life as in
Dorothy’s case. And keep from negatively influencing young people as
in the case of my sister.
for her one day when I was over babysitting at her home. She was
-and is- an intolerant, impatient, horrible person whom I have never
gotten along with. Never liked her. When spying the way in which I
was decapitating the apples with a paring knife, she started screaming and came
at me in a menacing manner, shouting vulgar profanities in a manner of one
deranged. I ducked and threw my arm up in anticipation of her slapping me,
but she only ripped the knife and the apple out of my hands, continuing
her rant that I did not know how to carve an apple and should not be
trusted with a knife. This is only one incident of the horrible
things she did to me while I was growing.
From that point in my life, I was frightened to learn how
to cook or bake. Even though I sat in the kitchen at the
counter trying to absorb, I never wanted to jump in with both
feet to do what my mother did while she was concocting her
delicious meals.
So I sat on the sidelines, just watching. Watching.
Until one day when my husband and myself made friends with
a wonderful couple at my church in Denver, Colorado.
Mickey & Dorothy (Dot) were the accepting, loving parents
that I never knew. Non-judgmental. Loving. Oh. Yeah.
I already mentioned that.
Dorothy loved to cook. She made great ab-fab grilled
cheese sandwiches during bible study. She invited me over
one day to learn how to cook old-fashioned hand-made
from scratch apple pies! So when it came to peeling apples,
I balked. Stopped. Full brakes.
Within my inner psyche-lived a little girl who was so frightened
of this procedure that even though she had eagerly agreed
to this cooking adventure to spend time with this wonderful
woman, she had totally forgotten that this would include
Peeling Apples. (with capital letters).
I halting and stutteringly explained to Dot that I was
never good at peeling apples, suggesting maybe she should
do the apples. But Dot brushed aside my worried, proceeding
to calmly allay my fears, working patiently with me to
peel an apple with the paring knife.
Dot shared her love with me; her patient calmness; her love
for cooking & baking; her general well-being; her acceptance
of what others could accomplish - to overcome what were
otherwise up 'til then - barriers.
Mickey was the same. Calm. Caring. Loving. Accepting. Eager
to impart his knowledge, but only if it was desired. These
people never forced, never raised their voices.
As I have aged, I have grown mellow. In my attitudes, in my
thinking, in my enjoyment of life. I have attempted to convey
this to others, even though it has been very difficult
sometimes.
The only reason that I can think that I remember this so
well I believe is the fact that one instance was so negative
and the other was so very positive - - Polar opposites of the
same exact event. Could I have become another Julia child, emeril,
Rachel Ray or Alton brown? Maybe...Maybe not. We will never know.
We will never know because that first, spontaneous thirst for
knowledge for the culinary arts was cruelly stamped out.
I can only hope that I can positively affect someone’s life as in
Dorothy’s case. And keep from negatively influencing young people as
in the case of my sister.
Autumns Splendor -Penny Springmann; Frames-K.Pertiet; Tokens-designing on the edge
Font-CK Architect
Font-CK Architect
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