I always think of my father when I make fruit salad.
I grew up loving FRUIT salad. All of the delicious fruits and then sprinkled with red port and sugar.
It was like a sangria for kids.
I always looked forward to it, and was always glad when my father made it. He was always the one responsible for putting in the port.
When we went to other people's houses, he would comment... "Those American's don't know how to make fruit salad. They don't use port."
I would smile in agreement. They didn't know what they were missing.
So, when I got married and we were about to consumate our marriage by making our first fruit salad, I skipped over to the liquor cabinet and grabbed the port and poured it in the salad.
I saw my wife's face. I don't remember exactly her words, but I suspect they were along the lines of "WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING THAT FOR? WHY ARE YOU RUINING A PERFECTLY GOOD FRUIT SALAD?"
It became clear after a few of our salad efforts that she was not a fan of the "port and sugar" secret recipe.
I wanted her to like it MY way... the way I was used to eating it. But, it became clear that was not going to happen.
At first, like in many aspects of my life, I was torn - very torn. I liked fruit salad with port better. It was the "better" recipe. It tasted "better". I felt like I was losing a small part of me by leaving the port behind.
But over time, I realize I leave no part of me behind as I grow up.
I take it all with me.
I don't become less of me... I become more of me, as I learn compromise, as I learn sharing, as I learn to savor different recipes and enjoy different preferences.
I don't lose MYSELF when I don't get my way on things that are simple preferences.
I only lose MYSELF when I compromise on my values.
Slowly through the years, I backed off the port, into orange juice and lime juice.
Now sometimes, I don't use juice at all. I go NAKED.
And, between you and me.
I kind of like the NAKED fruit salad. It does taste healthier and cleaner. Specially for breakfast ;-)
I don't often make fruit salad these days, but every time I do, I think about my father. I think about so many aspects of my life that have evolved through the years. About the things I thought about growing up - the things I believed to be "right" or "better".
I used be a jealous man. I used to judge homosexuals. I used to think and do all kinds of things that I don't do or think anymore. I used to be embarrassed to admit my prejudices. Now, I realize they were part of me, part of my journey, part of my learning process.
I am ok embracing other ideas, other recipes.
I realize that doing so doesn't make me LESS of me. It doesn't compromise any part of myself.
It's because I have constructed on myself, evolved myself, expanded myself...
I have grown more empathetic...
I have grown more understanding...
I have grown more respectful...
I have grown more humble...
I have grown more loving and less judgemental of mankind.
I realize that few recipes are "better" in the absolute - they are just different. (I still can't figure out why some people like milk chocolate over dark, but I am working on that one.)
Different tastes.
Different purposes.
Different experiences.
Different recipes...
I am one of those "American's" that my dad used to talk about. I am ok with that. I get where he is coming from, and I get where they were coming from.
I like FRUIT salad... with port or without.
I'm older now.
I'm wiser now.
I don't need MY preferences, MY experiences, MY traditions to be BETTER than others' in order to feel worthy, or justified, or whatever...
I really do believe that all that we do,
all that we cook,
are expressions of ourselves,
and expressions of LOVE.
And, to truly love one another...
to truly respect one another...
as God's children, as brothers, as fellow human beings...
We need to respect individual tastes as we share our preferences.
How do you like your fruit salad?
Whatever that may be, let's allow ourselves to eat our fruit salad, as we very well please...
in peace,
and, hopefully, surrounded by those we love...
And. let's live happily ever after.
In harmony,
Nestor