A little girl was watching her mother prepare a ham for the evening meal. She watched with eager anticipation as her mother cut the ham into two pieces, put each piece in its own pan, then put them both in the oven, side by side.
When her mother’s attention turned to see her observer, the little girl asked, “Mommy, why do you cut the ham in half before you put it in the oven?”
“I don’t know. It’s just the way my mother always did it,” replied the mother. “You’ll have to go ask your Grandma.”
Curious, the little girl did as she was directed. “Grandma, why did you cut the ham in half before you put it in the oven?”
“I don’t know. It’s just the way my mother always did it,” replied the grandmother. “You’ll have to go ask your Great-Grandmother.”
Still searching for an answer, the little girl approached her elderly great-grandmother and asked, “Great-Grandma, why did you cut the ham in half before you put it in the oven?”
The Great-grandmother smiled and said, “The whole ham would not fit into my oven, so I cut it in half and cooked the two halves one after the other.”
I see you, tyrant, trying to tell me how to live and who to be. Well, I’m done blindly following your lead. You’ve had quite enough free, unquestioned reign in my life.
And when I ask you Why, you better have a better answer than “That’s just how it’s always been done.”
Because we have bigger ovens now.
Writing about widow life, grief, and general random ramblings.
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