I think I may have mentioned that my dad grew up poor in Ecuador and that sandwiches are some of his favorite snack or rather, in his case, a meal.
It's funny, or ironic, how a habitual action while preparing food can trigger a memory.
My parents were in the kitchen together a few weeks ago.
My mother sitting at the table, drinking a cup of her ever favorite coffee, Iguaçu, taking her myriad of prescriptions and my father at the counter, making a sandwich. My father was rattling about with a small spatula knife, trying to get the last bits of mustard from a jar so he could spread it on his sandwich.
Mom said that he stopped what he was doing, turned around and told my mom the following story:
As a kid, my father would be invited to other kids' birthday parties. At the party, there would be cake, of course. Along with cake, there would be finger foods, sandwiches being one of them.
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| Not sure if they looked like this, but this looks yummy. |
According to how my father described these sandwiches, he probably thought at the tender age of 10 that these were the bomb diggity!
He described small sandwiches with mortadela, cheese and mustard, among many other kinds of condiments. My father grabbed a sandwich and finished that sandwich and went to get a second, when he was brushed away by some old bat.
"No, no! No puedes comer el sándwich porque necesitamos guardar los otros para los demás!" said a woman to him (You can't eat the sandwich because we need to save the rest for everyone else).
Not only was my father a growing boy, and obviously hungry, but more than likely that may have been the only thing he would have eaten that day. Though my father and my uncle grew up poor, my grandmother had a knack for making her children look fabulous with her dressmaking skills.
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| My father is on the left. |
Apparently, my father thought that mustard was something fancy because my father, at 10 years old, WORKED a long time and SAVED his money to be able to purchase a little jar of mustard for his mother.
He then presented it to my grandmother, "Aquí, mamita. Esto es para tí. Ahora podemos comer los sándwiches como los ricos." (Here, Mommy. This is for you. Now we can eat sandwiches like the rich people.)
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| you get the idea |
My mom told me this story and I began to sob. I had an image of my father presenting my grandmother with his treasured mustard that he worked for at TEN YEARS OLD. My son is nine, and while he is very loving towards me, he wouldn't work THAT hard. My father, even to this day, is a hard worker and I wish there was a way that I could let him retire.
Perhaps when that happens, I could present him with a jar of mustard, with a bow on top.
I think my father would get the message.
