Heel of the Bread

Dear Mom,

I remember Dad telling me about the time when Uncle Joe lived with you two. He said Uncle Joe would never eat the heel when he’d reach in for a piece of bread and it’d make him so angry. You could hear Dad’s voice getting riled up all over again. I always thought it was silly. Who cares?

It was silly until we had family move in. I guess we each have our own hey that gets on my nerve kind of thing. Like not eating the heel of the bread. Mine was not scooting the chair back into the kitchen table. I could handle it for a while, but then a spark would ignite and I’d find myself, just like Dad, crabbing about the chair not being put back.

It reminds me when my cousin came over and stood at the kitchen door. “Why are your cabinet doors open?”

I looked around and saw about three of them open exposing the inside contents. I shrugged, “I have no idea.” Unconsciously I’d leave the cabinet door open after removing something.

It’s the same thing with pushing the chairs in—people aren’t purposely leaving the chair out to get on my nerves. Uncle Joe didn’t leave the heel of the bread to tick off Dad. Sometimes we do things just because. No rhyme or reason.