I only asked where the eggs for the pie had gone and I was called stingy: My daughterinlaw decided to buy a second fridge to keep her food separate.
I simply inquired about the missing eggs for the tart and was labeled miserly, she said, declaring she would get a separate refrigerator and wouldnt let me touch their food any longer.
There are moments when you cant tell whether to laugh or to cry. Yesterday I faced a situation that still makes my hands shake. I had resolved to bake a tart it had been ages since Id treated my family to a pastry. The weather was pleasant, I was in good spirits, and my granddaughter was playing in the next room. Everything was ready except the eggs. I opened the fridge and found them gone. They had been there just a few hours earlier; I had set them aside so no one would take them. But now they were nowhere to be found.
Naturally, I asked my daughterinlaw if she had taken or moved them. Thats when the storm broke. She exploded: What? Youre denying my granddaughter eggs? She already ate an omelet this morning! I stood frozen, in disbelief, my heart tightening with hurt. I replied, Youre really foolish I couldnt hold back. The word is harsh, but how do you react when youre accused of being cheap over two eggs you bought yourself?
Her retort was: Ill buy my own fridge, and each of us will eat what belongs to us! Imagine a single household, the same apartment, with separate refrigerators. Its no longer a family; its a shared flat. All because I dared to ask about missing eggs.
I am no longer a young woman. I live modestly, without luxuries. This apartment is all I have, obtained with difficulty, almost by accident. I survive on my pension, counting every cent. I hunt for bargains at markets, watch for promotions. The younger ones claim they dont have time. They work, theyre tiredI understand that. My son spends his days at the office trying to lift his family out of precariousness. No prospects for a separate home right now. They cant move: rents are high, mortgages out of reach. So four of us share a tworoom flat: me, my son, my daughterinlaw and my granddaughter. I try not to impose, not to disturb, and I even enjoy the little company I have.
Living together isnt just sharing a kitchen and a bathroom. Its about respect. Its about recognizing that an elderly person also has needs, habits, and, God forgive me, the right to bake a tart. And yet a quarrel erupts over two eggs. This isnt the first time: a misplaced pan, a borrowed pot, ingredients that vanished when I was about to cook. I stay silent, I endure. But this time I couldnt. It isnt really about the eggs, the fridge, or even the tart.
Its about consideration. About the pain of spending a lifetime caring for othersgiving, feeding, raising themonly to be called stingy. Yet I was the one who welcomed them, never chased them away or refused them. I shared my home, pooled what we have, and we manage as best we can. Now Im being told to eat apart, to live apart, to keep my distance.
I know we belong to different generations. They have their ideas, I have mine. But a family isnt about fridges or who ate what. Its about respect, attention, and gratitude. I dont expect worship, but being called miserly hurtsdeeply hurts.
So I tell myself I wont get involved any more. If they eat everything, fine. If theres nothing left, Ill make myself some pasta. Eating together? Let them eat alone. But they should know one thing: it isnt because Im offended or miserly, but because its their choice. They chose it. And I will remember it. I will learn from it.
Life sometimes teaches that respect is lost faster than it is earned, yet a family does not split over a couple of eggsor over anything else.
