Potato Salad and Stuff

As children, mother taught my brothers and me to always

attend Mass on Sunday, to pick up our toys before bedtime,

to keep our elbows off the table at dinner time, and to love

her potato salad.

Now, just about everyone knows that as you grow up and

move along in life, and you have your own place, some of

mother’s rules may no longer apply. Personally, I got worn

out with the Sunday Mass thing, figuring I could pray any-

time and anywhere I pleased. With everything else He’s got

on His mind, I’m pretty sure an all-forgiving God would

think no less of me.

Life is and always has been an ongoing evolution where

often we have the opportunity to pick and choose. I am

pleased to say that I have outgrown scattering my toys

across the floor. Keeping an uncluttered and stumble-free

pathway through the room makes a great deal of sense to

me. And, as I see it, elbows to lean upon, although some

may consider it slovenly, is naturally acceptable to me.

I spoke with one of my brothers over the phone the other

day, and mother (who had long since passed away) came

up in our conversation. “She wasn’t a very good cook,”

he offered, “but her potato salad was the best.”

As for me, having traveled around the world over the years,

having placed my knobby elbows on dining room tables from

Hamburg to Sydney, having been served potato salad from

New York to LA, and having tasted myriad versions, hot and

cold, I have concluded, mother’s version of that spud-spun

dish never really did cut the mustard (if you’ll pardon the pun).

I did not challenge my brother’s culinary critique for I did not

wish to hurt his feelings or berate his fond childhood memory.

That would have been a futile exercise for me. Why should I

try and convince him of anything which is subjectively a mere

matter of personal taste. Besides, my brother is predisposed to

basking in the self-illuminating light of always being right.

The issue of my brother continuing to attend Mass religiously

every Sunday is a much more disconcerting issue for me. He

continues to believe that there is only one proper place and

time for prayer. And I know for a fact that he’s not opposed to

putting his elbows on the back of the pew in front of him

when kneeling down to pray. What’s up with that anyway?

Chris Hanch 3-2-17