Giving Freely
This anecdote about a middle finger into the eye of generational trauma was recently published by Modern Love’s “Tiny Love Stories” over at the New York Times. Click to read it there — they’re nice, and their help and support was essential.
100 words to spend, goes like this:
My father hoarded his dry-roasted peanuts, those over-salted ones in the glass jar with a metallic lid. He’d share with his young sons begrudgingly. Aggrieved, he’d tap them out from the jar: one lid-full at most, always. As adults, my brother and I were astounded to find these peanuts sold in ordinary grocery stores everywhere. The first time I visited his new home in Boston, my brother opened his own jar, handed me the lid, then poured. I stood frozen as the lid filled, then overfilled, peanuts spilling freely onto his kitchen floor. I looked, and he smiled, and he poured.
