It’s interesting how an inane task can evoke poignant memories, and somewhat strange that the same memory may not hit you every time you perform that inane task.
For example, I can’t tell you how many times I’ve sliced a banana onto a bowl of cereal. Take the box from the cabinet over the fridge, grab a bowl, pour in the cheerios, peel the banana, get a paring knife out of the deadly knife drawer, slice plump coin sized pieces of banana onto a toasty mound of whole grain cereal, pour on the cold milk and you’re good to go. Yummy!
This morning however, as I peeled the banana, strings detached from the peel and dangled from the fruit; memories flooded into my mind of a nanosecond in time shared with my father years ago. As we stood side by side at the kitchen counter preparing our breakfast, we each peeled a banana, but as I was slicing, dad was carefully removing the strings. I watched him for a minute, as he meticulously stripped them away one by one, it was apparent he really didn’t even want to touch them. I chuckled and asked him what he was doing, and without losing his focus he said, “I hate the banana strings, they’re bitter”. So, being the teenager I was I just rolled my eyebrows and made a mental note that dad was weird.
As I stood at the same kitchen counter that I stood at on that morning so many years ago, I chuckled to myself, lovingly thought of my dad and meticulously removed the offending banana strings.