Because Momma Did

I remember reading this story in Readers Digest once about a young wife who was just learning to cook. She called her mother to get instructions on how to prepare a roast for the oven. Later that evening, as she was cutting both ends off the roast, her new husband asked why she had to remove the ends. There was nothing wrong with them.

She wasn't sure, but since that is what her mom told her to do, that was the way she was going to do it. The roast was great and she continued to prepare it the same way each time she cooked it. Always removing an inch or so from each end.

At Christmas the young couple spent a few days with the girl's parents. One evening, as her mom was preparing a roast, she cut both ends of the roast off before placing it in a pan. Her daughter asked her why she did that.

Her mother wasn't sure, but since that was the way her mom had always done it, that was the way she'd always made it. But the grandmother was going to be at their house the following day, so they'd be sure to ask her.

As it turned out, the grandmother always trimmed the roast because it never fit in the small pan she had.

I remember reading the story and laughing my ass off. How funny, and true. Humans learn more by imitation than study, and most of the time we never even question it.

This truth hit me a few days ago with the delicacy of a lead pipe to the head.

For some unknown reason, I've been dealing with feeling like my life is over for the last few years. Yes, I've had a few bad knocks. Yes, I'm in my forties. But still, I'm not even half way through the life I plan on living. And being pessimistic about anything, for any length of time, is just not me.

Then it hit me . . .

My grandmother died when she was 46. Every single day of his life (that I remember) my grandfather was sure he was about to die. His time was up, this was it - very reminiscent of Red Foxx. None of the women in our family lived very long lives. My own mother never expected to live past her 40s (and yet she's still kicking somewhere at 63 - almost 64). But . . . and this is the big one - she pretty much quit living and started waiting to die in her 40s.

By imitation alone, I found myself settling into the rut of waiting for my last days. And I have to tell you, it was going to be a damn LONG wait.

Like any other genetically induced trap I've found myself in, I acknowledged from whence it came, and laughed it off.

I know mom never expected to outlive her mom. I'd bet my commercial-sewing machine that her mother never expected to live past her forties either.

Not to break any great traditions or anything, but I think I'd rather cut the ends of my roasts from now on.