Hitting the Spot

Having children is the ultimate roll of the dice.  Unless you are wealthy enough (and willing) to pay for a Gattica-like process, children are the results of gambling, pure and simple.  We may tell ourselves that we chose our partners wisely, and are comfortable with the variables, but the reality of the variables dwarfs what we actually control.  The size of their feet, the color of their eyes, their talents, their shortcomings, as well as their personalities, are all a result of the most random mixture of yourself and the tiniest part that you control: your choice of partner.  Neither of you gets to choose which traits you would prefer to contribute (making sure to withhold anything you're not proud of).  You get what you get and you make the best of it.

Making the best of your abilities is easier when they're functionally useful.  For example, cooking happens to be one of those talents I inherited.  I can trace it back to my paternal grandmother, who could make a gourmet, mouth-watering meal out of just about anything.  I am grateful for the gift and have always hoped to pass it onto my children as it has served me well throughout my life.  Growing up in a motherless home necessitated trial by fire in the kitchen because single fathers don't believe in snacks.  If I wanted to eat, I had to cook or I didn't eat.  It's no wonder I started cooking at age eight.

Knowing how to cook was an asset for me in college.  I didn't give it a second thought until I realized that all of my roommates were constantly eating take-out, and I was the only one who used the stove.  I was also the only one who knew how to shop for groceries, which is paramount if you're the one responsible for planning meals.  I once had a supervisor who made the distinction between those who prepare hot meals and those who cook.  She insisted she was the former and I was the latter.  

One of the benefits of knowing how to cook is the rewarding love affair with consuming the finished product.  While I have an extreme fondness for eating, I'm not one of those who prefers eating more than cooking — there's simply nothing better than cooking a meal for people you love and watching them enjoy it.  It should come as no surprise that my wife is my biggest fan, often bragging to her friends about how well she eats, and always agreeing when I declare that a meal "hit the spot."  Nobody knows where the spot is, per se, but everyone instinctively knows when a meal hits it.

It should come as no surprise that my children love food, and love consuming my cooking (so much for the randomness of genetics).  They often wander into the kitchen just to enthusiastically inhale the aroma, usually coupled with a comment along the lines of "that smells GOOD!"

One night, when my daughter was four, we had just finished a particularly good meal.  Before I could utter my standby pat on the back, my daughter declared, smiling broadly, "That hit the spot in my tummy!"

Of course it did ... and it seems my daughter knows exactly which spot was hit.