My Mother, My Daughter & Change

 

My 11-year old daughter surprised me last month.

Over a three-day period she tried crab, shrimp, squid and octopus. She didn’t just sample them – she ate them and even had seconds. She’s more open-minded than I was at her age.

In my adolescence, I turned up my nose at stuffed peppers, cabbage rolls and salmon – much to my mother’s chagrin.

Not anymore. I’ll eat just about anything.

Yesterday, I discussed the evolution of my palette with my mother. I reminded her that we didn’t get a microwave until I went to college. OK it might have been high school, but I know Ronald Reagan was president.

Today, that would be like me getting my first cell phone or sending my first e-mail.

I jokingly chided my mom that if 30 years ago, she was afraid of a microwave, I could be scared of tomatoes. We laughed at how immature we were.

Then my retired, 65-year-old mother shocked me. (Counseling is probably imminent.)

I asked her if she wanted to talk to her granddaughters and she told me she’d “just send them an e-mail.”

Clearly, I’m not the only one who grew up.

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