The Hand That Feeds

When I reached my junior and senior year of high school I was a pretty busy teenager. I was enrolled in honors level classes, involved in a plethora of extracurricular activities that would look good on college applications, working a part-time job and staying actively involved in my church. I was doing all of this around scheduling daily treatments to keep my lungs as healthy as possible which took up to 2 hours out of every day. I also knew my limits and it was VERY rare to find me awake past 10:30 during the week. I was up by 6:00 and without enough sleep I was inviting a cold or virus to throw me into the hospital. So it is easy to see how I had to be careful to use my time wisely.

In the fall my brother was on the soccer team and my mom went to every game. In the mountains where schools are few and far between, due to the low population away games could be up to a 3 hour drive away. My mom was there, cheering on my brother and his teammates and ready to give him a ride home that did not involve a long bus ride back up the mountain. This provided for plenty of evenings at home with just me and my dad.

My dad usually came home and spent whatever day light hours were left doing any work that may have needed to be done outside. If not doing work outside he would fall asleep in front of the television. With my mom on the road I was in charge of dinner these nights. I was never asked if this was something I wanted to do and I really was not okay that the responsibility had been handed to me, but I did enjoy eating so I just did what I was told.

In truth I did not really mind being in charge of cooking dinner. Acts of service is mine and Daddy’s main love language and making him dinner was an easy way for me to show love and a great way for him to know that as much as we fought his teenage daughter really did love him. Plus making whatever Mama had left for me to cook was nice break from homework.

I was not the best trained cook in high school (these days I’m a great cook) and since I was busy Mama was considerate enough to leave simple meals. This meant that Hamburger Helper was a regular at our house during soccer season. Daddy was never a big fan, but it was a meal and he did not do any of the grocery shopping so he was pretty good about eating what was put in front of him; until the last time I cooked for him for a period of about 6 years.

It was beef stroganoff, Hamburger Helper style as prepared by me, with a side of green beans. I don’t know whether it was too much beef for the month or whether it was a bad day at work that was not helped with a meal he was getting sick of, but I set the table and told Daddy supper was ready and that was the end of my good day.

The first words out of his mouth were “It’s about time you learned to cook something else besides this junk.” You would think that since I’m basically a clone of my dad he would have known that those words would have dire consequences for him. When Mama got home I informed her I would no longer be making dinner on soccer nights except for making myself a sandwich or warming up leftovers for me.

The next away soccer game I was in the middle of doing calculus homework when Daddy asked “what are we having for dinner?”

I replied “I’m having a sandwich. You can have whatever you want to make for yourself.”

Don’t bite the hand that feeds you and definitely don’t yell at the teenager with limited time and limited cooking skills that made you dinner when you don’t like what is served. You might have to fend for yourself from now on if your wife isn’t home.