Number 20 on Thirty Things wants me to: Describe 3 significant memories from your childhood.

Where do I begin? Childhood, in anyone’s life, is filled with significant events. Many of these events stick with you throughout life and shape the person you become. Or they just leave you with a really good story to tell later on in life. It’s really hard to pick three standouts but I’ll try.

The time I cut off a piece of my eyebrow

I’m not entirely sure how old I was, but certainly old enough to be aware of the existing beauty standards. At the time thin eyebrows were in and I had the opposite of thin eyebrows. When people weren’t commenting on and pinching my cheeks they would comment about how thick my eyebrows were.

Being a child, I thought nothing of this. But later, possibly through the infiltration of media and people talking about their eyebrows, I thought my brows should be thinner. Credit to my parents though. They were always telling me to leave my brows alone and not tweeze them.

One day I was looking in the mirror. I remember thinking: I need to beautify myself. I took a pair of hair scissors and snipped a chunk of the side of my eyebrow off. Needless to say, I didn’t feel beautiful after doing that. I was actually scared. I got a scolding from my mom and was told never to touch my eyebrows again.

Did I listen? For years, yes. Then in my final year of school I went to a beauty parlour and had my eyebrows waxed before my matric ball. Just to clean up the rough edges, you know?

While at university I started going to a different beautician who does threading and have stuck to that method ever since. I have them “cleaned up” every regularly but I’d never pluck them in a thin line as was popular in my youth. In fact, I’m happy with my eyebrows, thick as they are and happy with the job that the threading lady does.

That was a rather long memory? Are you sure you want to stick around for more? Yes? OK.

The first time I made up a recipe

I was active in the kitchen from a young age. My mom would let me make the salad to accompany our dinners and I’d have lots of fun putting it together. I also just loved watching my mom cook and tried my hand at simple dishes here and there.

I was probably 11 when I made up my first recipe. There was leftover fried snoek. I decided to invent my own little fish pie using the leftover fish, some of mom’s homemade pastry and a béchamel sauce (which I could comfortably make on my own at that age thanks to my mom).

I made the pie left it in the kitchen and went over to my friend’s house for a while. When I got back home, there was one lone square left for me to taste. While I was gone, my mom, dad and aunt had eaten the entire (except for that one piece) dish. I was so happy they’d enjoyed it, I didn’t even care that they’d only kept me such a tiny piece. It made me happy to feed them something they’d want again and again. There is immeasurable satisfaction in knowing that what you’ve cooked is appreciated by those eating it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The pride in my parents’ faces at the realisation that their daughter could cook something enjoyable was enough to keep me on the cooking path until today. The fact that they kept talking about it to everyone who’d listen gave me the confidence to keep going in the kitchen. It was their faith in me that made me believe that being in the kitchen was something I’d be good at.

Food may not be my job at the moment but it’s something close to my heart and something I’ll continue to pursue for the rest of my days. Check out my food posts.

 

The time I hid a peanut butter sandwich…on my, uh, person

I can’t believe I’m telling you all this. But it’s time I come clean about just how much I dislike peanut butter.

I feel you judging me about this product that seems to be a favourite the world over except in my life.

 

I don’t recall a time when I liked it. It’s always been on my hate list, but I’ve tried liking. I recall making a PB&J sandwich when I was a teen but even with the addition of jam, it just didn’t sit well with me.

Now to tell you about the “significant” memory. Still can’t believe I’m doing this willingly.

I was probably 5. I must have been. I was in pre-school. As snacks they offered us quartered sandwiches, some filled with jam and some with peanut butter. I mistakenly took a peanut butter sandwich and was too afraid to tell the cook because I was afraid she’d shout at me and make me eat it.

Firstly, she was a stern woman and to a little 5-year-old that can be very intimidating. Secondly, I was a shy, non-confrontational, introverted child so I couldn’t bring myself to tell this woman I didn’t like peanut butter.

So just what did you do, I hear you ask me.

Well, as my mother discovered when she undressed me for a bath later that evening, I hid them IN MY PANTS!

I’ve also discovered that I’m not alone in my dislike of peanut butter. I have found my people.