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.
There I was, just wondering what happened to the eggs for the tart and I got labeled a miser, she said, announcing shed get a separate refrigerator and wouldnt let me touch their food any longer.
There are moments when you cant tell if you should laugh or weep. Yesterday I experienced one that still makes my hands shake. I had decided to bake a pie it had been ages since Id treated my family to a dessert. The weather was mild, my mood was good, and my granddaughter was playing in the next room. Everything was set; the only thing missing were the eggs. I opened the fridge and the eggs were gone. They had been there a few hours earlier, set aside so nobody would take them. Now, nothing.
Naturally, I asked my daughterinlaw whether she had moved or taken them. Thats when the storm broke. She erupted: What? Youre denying my little girl eggs? She had an omelet this morning! I was stunned, horrified, my heart clenched with sorrow. I replied, Youre really clueless I couldnt hold back. The word was harsh, but how do you react when youre accused of being cheap over two eggs you bought yourself?
Her retort: Im getting my own fridge, and everyone will eat whats theirs! Imagine a single apartment with separate refrigerators for each occupant its no longer a family, its a flatshare. All because I dared to ask about missing eggs.
Im no longer a young woman. I live modestly, without luxury. This apartment is all I have, acquired with great difficulty, almost by chance. I survive on my pension, counting every cent, hunting bargains and promotions. The youngsters say they dont have time. They work, theyre tiredI understand. My son spends his days at the office trying to pull his family out of precariousness. No prospects for a separate home yet; rents are high and 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 bother, and I even enjoy the company.
Living together isnt just sharing a kitchen and a bathroom; its about respect. It means recognizing that an elderly person also has needs, habits, and, God forgive me, the right to bake a pie. A fight over two eggs isnt the first: a misplaced pan, a borrowed pot, ingredients that vanished when I planned to cook. Usually I keep quiet and endure, but this time I couldnt. It isnt really about eggs, a fridge, or even a pie.
Its about being considered. After a lifetime of caring for othersfeeding, raising, givingbeing called stingy hurts deeply. I was the one who opened my home, who never turned anyone away. I shared my flat, pooled everything, and we managed as best we could. Now Im being told to eat apart, live apart, stay out of the way.
I know were from different generations. They have their ideas, I have mine. But a family isnt defined by refrigerators or who ate what. Its built on respect, attention, and gratitude. Im not asking anyone to grovel, but hearing stingy cuts deepvery deep.
So Ive decided I wont get involved any more. If they eat everything, fine. If nothings left, Ill make myself some pasta. Eating together? Let them eat alone. But they should know it isnt because Im hurt or miserly; its their choice. They chose it, and Ill remember it and learn from it.
Life sometimes shows us that respect is easier to lose than to earn, yet a family should never split over eggsor anything else.
