So Grandpa, being the saintly man he is, has up to this point been cooking the evening meal 5 nights a week. I do the other two on my days off. He always does his best to time so that when I come home from work (typically between 4 and 5 on weekdays) the meal is hot and ready to go. He's even arranged a tv tray complete with napkin, silverware, and water on several occaisions! Ok, so I've been a completely spoiled little brat. I am aware of this...sort of. Well, I come home today knowing that Grandpa has decided to try his hand at a fish recipe. He always asks,'Ike, what do you think of this fish recipe (from the Betty Crocker cookbook- the only thing he uses)?" And I don't want to tell him that it sounds about as appetizing as the instant bacon I can smell Grandma eating in the living room. So I take one for the team and smile and say, "That sounds fine Grandpa." If my stomach had arms, it'd give me the equivalent of a punch in the arm.
You get the picture. I come home and Grandpa has the meal waiting and gives me his usual litany of directions: here's the fish, there's the peas, your salad's in the fridge, and you can put whatever dressing on your salad you want. This is a bit like when he explains the simple, corny jokes he tells; as if his explanation was truly necessary to decode their extremely complex punchline. Those of you who know Grandpa know what I mean. Anyhow, I am, of course, feeling trapped. On the one hand, I am totally grateful. On the other, the sight of flounder baked in cream of mushroom soup made me think of an activity that's sort of the antithesis to eating. I do my best to graciously decline- saying, "Gramps- I totally appreciate your getting all of this ready. I just have my stomach set on a turkey sandwich (yeah, it sounded as bad when it came out my mouth the first time)." He looks about as close to wanting to kick my ass as I've seen in a while. Not since I beat him 25-23 in ping pong two nights ago has he had that kind of primal, steely glint in his eye. I watch him sit down in the chair facing the kitchen, staring at me as I begin making a turkey sandwich. Then, as he watched me take pretty much nothing of the things he had slaved over for me ( I can't believe how much of a dick move this really was on my part)- mashed taters, peas, and fish- he says to me: "Ike, we need to talk about the menu if you're not going to eat any of the things that I have prepared for you." He was of course right.
So I do my best to apologize for being a complete ingrate. Sort of works. But it's not what really is at the source of the conflict. I chew my sandwich and think. Well, I know that I don't want to try the Sisyphisian task of menu planning with Grandpa. My veto pen would run out of ink so much I'd have to start my own pen business. And Grandpa doesn't want to feel frustrated having to please my hippie palate. So I tell him that from now on he and Granny should cook and eat what sounds good to them and I'll put whatever's around and available into the arrangement that suits me best. They have an ongoing grocery list that they want me to add to, knowing that there are plenty of things that I like that they don't. Funny. So damn funny. It was actually really great to deal with some real conflict in a real way- and not do the midwest Lutheran-put-your-head-down-and-bear-it. We talked it through and it was just fine. I told Gramps how grateful I am that he has pretty much waited on me hand and foot these last months and that I didn't deserve any of it and that I was doubly sorry for being such an ass today. Granny benefited from seeing someone actually say they're sorry. Gramps benefited- I think- from just knowing that he can get frustrated with me...openly. And I benefited because I learned that I need to be honest and trust that it will be better in the end than some white lie that perpetuates awkward fish-eating situations.
I actually sat down tonight with tears in my eyes; you know, the kind that are just on the tips of your eyelids. I don't know if it's being tired, feeling overwhelmed and excited about Grad School, listening to more of Granny's gibberish at the end of my day, or just one of those moments where the utter absurdity of life just sneaks up on you and scares the hell out of you.
Yeah. Anyhow, I sit here struck by how absurd life truly is. I listened to a story on NPR today about a girl in Gaza who was killed by a bomb 24 hours after entering into this world. I listened to MLK Jr. give his "I have a Dream" speech on CNN and was moved to stand up and smile for about 10 minutes just staring at the TV. I booked a flight to Knoxville, TN. Now, I'll probably go watch some West Wing and fall asleep. When I stop long enough and look closely enough, there's so much that can happen in a day.
Night.
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