She ate apple bruises too. Peach bruises? You betcha. She did it for all of us. And as crazy as it may sound, I'm at peace with it, now that I know why. What the heck am I talking about here? Oh, I mean this quite literally. My Mom ate fruit bruises. She also scraped the mold off of cheese and ate the non-moldy part. Ya, sounds gross, right? But there was a reason for it. There's more that she did that fits this category, but the point is..
I never realized why My Mom ate fruit bruises and the like until just recently. Sure, we were poor you guys. (I never really thought about how poor until just recently either.) That's because my Mom and my Dad made so many sacrifices for us, that we didn't notice.
But it was so much more than that. We were grossed out that my Mom would cut the bruised part of the fruit she gave us off and eat it herself. We thought it was some kind of depression era habit. I guess it was. But what we didn't see is that we got the good part of the fruit. That was the whole point. We couldn't afford to waste food. So, my Mom made sure we had the best part.
What I, personally, never thought about is that the fruit bruises my Mom ate were probably also the only fruit she ever got. She always saved the good stuff for us. She had grown up in the depression. She wasn't as picky as we were. So she would scrape the mold off the cheese and sour cream and eat what was left.
But she would give us the good stuff that hadn't gone moldy. And the more I think about it, the more I realize that she did this with everything.
She was constantly taking Grade B so we could have Grade A. And while my Dad wasn't quite as “gross” as my Mom in this respect, his life was all about us kids too. Every minute of it.
Oh, they both had their hobbies. My Dad liked gardening and woodworking. He grew our food and made a lot of the things we used around the house. He even built us kids a color TV because we wanted one and couldn't afford it. He sent away for a kit and worked on it for months. It wasn't for him. It was for us. And when my Mom took up “crafting” she made things for us. Everything was for us.
Everything.
All of it was for us. Every mouthful of bruised fruit. She used to say, “I'll take your bruises, Jeannie.” And now that I think about it, she meant that literally. And me, as a kid, the whole time and a little ways into adulthood, I just thought she was kind of gross. Or at least, her habits were. But really, she was just giving me the best in the only way she could.
So now it's my turn to give her my best. And I guess that's true of all people with aging parents. But not all parents eat your bruises for you or scrape the mold off the old sour cream, eat what's left and give you the newer container. Not all parents work as hard as my Dad did and come home and work some more. Not all parents make the sacrifices mine did.
My Dad is gone now, so I can't thank him in person. But I can thank him by calling my Mom more often, writing her the letters she loves to read and maybe sending her a care package here and there. Because that woman ate my banana bruises for me. And he loved her so much, you guys. So much. But that's a story for another day.
Off to call my Mommy. Peace out.
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