Each of my parents, like all parents, hoped for a better likeness of himself/herself reflected back in their child. I don’t suppose it occured to either of them that they could have tried to stretch the borders for themselves, rather than stretch the child. Still, I’m grateful, I know how to do most of everything.
| Things My Father Taught Me | Things My Mother Taught Me |
| How to paint a picture. | How to paint a house. |
| Wipe down the whole kitchen (including the stove) after doing the dishes, otherwise it doesn't count | Take the part you need with youto the hardware store, so the new part fits exactly. |
| Buy Brand X, and look at the ingredients. | Buy two of something if they're cheap. |
| Wink. | Smile. |
| Watch people; they're entertaining. | Watch women. |
| Weep; it purges the soul. | Never cry; you'll look like a woman. |
| Never mix dark loads with white ones. | Hold the hammer at the very endof the shaft, not up by the head like a girl. |
| Read great literature. | Make art. |
| Be nice to people. | You can't trust people. |
| Let women vent. | Let women vent. |
My father usually made our lunches, my mother drove us to the bus stop. I would watch his fingers float over the bread, the mayonnaise, the bologna. Delicate, handsome fingers, floating in the air like a storyteller. A few times a guest grown-up would remark on the novelty of a father who fixed lunch for his kids. They never saw my mother’s sandwhiches, which always consisted of hunks of cheese and eggs, no sandwhich, and no napkin.“Eat like a peasant,” she would say. “It suits your character.”
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