Family

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Sharing Differences
©
by

Stephen A. Peterson


Maura and I met while I was a visiting scholar on academic fellowship to the Philippines. Soon after we met, I left to return to the United States but we corresponded by letter for newly two years. Soon our pen pal letters went from friendly monthly international exchange to serious cultural interest, love and marriage on New Year’s day. We learned that we had quite a bit in common but were neophytes and naïve about how our different families and cultures had made us who we are—she a Filipina, I, Native American—Okie from Oklahoma.

After nine months of sorting out what was needed and required to satisfy the Philippine and United States governments, Maura was granted an American visa to travel to the United States. Not long after her arrival, we went to the supermarket a little more than two blocks from our apartment to grocery shop for the very first time as husband and wife. She was shocked at how little Americans had to pay for food so she bought three large frozen salmons, a small ham, a half dozen packages of fresh meat, 40 pounds of rice, fresh fruits and vegetables for less than one hundred dollars. There was so much food; we had no more space to put things in refrigerator and available cabinet space. She cooked the ham so that for about a week she and I were eating ham, rice, potatoes and a variety of different vegetables. By the end of the week, the ham was reduced to a bone with a few tiny pieces of ham meat on it.

I commented, “My mom would cook this ham bone and make soup of it.”

To my surprise she said, “That is just what my mother would have done too.”

When I left for work, I was thinking of a dinner of soup with either biscuits or lots of old style cornbread. Later that day, I called home, right around noon, to find out how she was doing on my first day of not being home all day with her. She told me she was doing fine and that I would really love the soup being prepared that evening. I could hardly wait to sit down to a soup bean dinner with lots and lots of biscuits or cornbread! WOW!

After work, there was a bounce in my step and a smile on my face as I left the school. I raced home as quickly as possible without hitting birds, squirrels or children on bikes and trikes. The second I unlocked and opened the door I knew something was awfully wrong. The apartment did not smell like soup beans, biscuits or cornbread. Maura, standing by the kitchen stove with a spoon in her hand saw the disappointing look on my face and asked, “Is there something wrong, Steve?”

Without stopping to consider what I was saying, I said in a low tone of voice, “When I say soup, I mean soup beans—with lentils, pinto beans, red beans, lima beans, black-eyed peas! You know beans! Real beans!”

With the same tone of voice, she responded, “And when I say soup, I mean rice, bay leaves, pepper and lots of vegetables!” We looked at each other and began laughing out loud.

It is hard to believe that this occurred over three decades ago! Still, to this day East and West, discover interesting, sometimes funny, sometimes serious and wonderful differences in each other’s upbringing, family of orientation and cultural traditions. And, oh, by the way, she enjoys the way I cook soup beans, and I have learned how delicious rice, bay leaves, pepper and vegetables are, prepared with a ham bone can really be!!!

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