We Were Different, Indeed

Tell-Tale Signs

I remember clearly my mother asking me to prepare toast for the family breakfast table.

I would make sure the toast was neither too dark or too light -- just right.

But because the butter tray came straight out of the refrigerator, it was hard.  That meant extra time, putting the pat of butter on the toast, hoping it would warm and become spreadable.  But, of course, that would never happen.

So I would end up cutting the pat into little pieces, taking time to carefully spread each one over an unbuttered area, until finally the whole piece of toast was evenly buttered.

Another time, my brother was tasked with preparing toast.

What it was, was a blob of butter plopped down in the center of the bread.  Any attempt by my brother to spread it was half-hearted and ineffectual.

Looking back I now see how different he and I were and are.