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| The
Cake |
Cindy glanced nervously at the clock on the kitchen wall. Five
minutes before midnight.
"They should be home any time now," she thought as she put the
finishing touches on the chocolate cake she was frosting. It
was the first time in her 12 years she had tried to make a cake
from scratch, and to be honest, it wasn't exactly an aesthetic
triumph. The cake was . . . well, lumpy. And the frosting was
bitter, as if she had run out of sugar or something. Which,
of course, she had.
And then there was the way the kitchen looked. Imagine a huge
blender filled with all the fixings for chocolate cake --
including the requisite bowls, pans and utensils. Now imagine
that the blender is turned on. High speed. With the lid off.
Do you get the idea? But Cindy wasn't thinking about the mess.
She had created something, a veritable phoenix of flour and
sugar rising out of the kitchen clutter.
She was anxious for her parents to return home from their date
so she could present her anniversary gift to them. She turned
off the kitchen lights and waited excitedly in the darkness.
When at last she saw the flash of the car headlights, she
positioned herself in the kitchen doorway. By the time she
heard the key sliding into the front door, she was THIS CLOSE
to exploding.
Her parents tried to slip in quietly, but Cindy would have none
of that. She flipped on the lights dramatically and trumpeted:
"Ta-daaa!" She gestured grandly toward the kitchen table, where
a slightly off-balance two-layer chocolate cake awaited their
inspection. But her mother's eyes never made it all the way to
the table. "Just look at this mess!" she moaned. "How many times
have I talked to you about cleaning up after yourself?"
"But Mom, I was only..."
"I should make you clean this up right now, but I'm too tired to
stay up with you to make sure you get it done right," her mother
said. "So you'll do it first thing in the morning."
"Honey," Cindy's father interjected gently, "take a look at the
table."
"I know -- it's a mess," his wife said coldly. "The whole kitchen
is a disaster. I can't stand to look at it." She stormed up the
stairs and into her room, slamming the door shut behind her.
For a few moments Cindy and her father stood silently, neither
one knowing what to say. At last she looked up at him, her eyes
moist and red. "She never saw the cake," she said.
Unfortunately, Cindy's mother isn't the only parent who suffers
from Situational Timbercular Glaucoma -- the occasional inability
to see the forest for the trees. From time to time we all allow
ourselves to be blinded to issues of long-term significance by
Stuff That Seems Awfully Important Right Now -- but isn't.
Muddy shoes, lost lunch money and messy kitchens are troublesome,
and they deserve their place among life's frustrations. But
what's a little mud -- even on new carpet -- compared to a child's
self- esteem? Is a lost dollar more valuable than a youngster's
emerging dignity? And while kitchen sanitation is important,
is it worth the sacrifice of tender feelings and relationships?
I'm not saying that our children don't need to learn responsibility,
or to occasionally suffer the painful consequences of their own bad
choices. Those lessons are vital, and need to be carefully taught.
But as parents, we must never forget that we're not just teaching
lessons -- we're teaching children. That means there are times when
we really need to see the mess in the kitchen. And times when we
only need to see the cake.
-- by Joseph Walker |
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