Picking peas in memory lane.

I recently took a trip down memory lane. Only it wasn't my memory nor lane. While visiting my father in Florida, we went out to dinner at my parents' favorite Asian restaurant. Dad was telling me stories of how my late mom and he would share the meal and of the nice times they would always have there.

The restaurant was an airy and quiet place, welcoming those who were looking for Chinese or Japanese food. The choices were many, but my dad was only interested in the last page, which had the typical selection: Fried Rice, Lo Mein, Chow Mein, sweet and sour dishes. I could have gone Sushi, but I haven't had Fried Rice in such a long time and was definitely in the mood for it. The meals that we ended up ordering was the exact same meal my parents would have ordered, if my mom was still around. Both of us became a little wistful when we realized this.

The one thing I have learned over the years is each restaurant has a variation of a standard meal. Most places I have gone to don't have a wide variety of vegetable and other things in fried rice. This place however was different.

In this meal, there was scrambled eggs, carrots, onions, and one of the most dreaded food for me: peas. So I did what I have done when I find it in my meal, I picked it out. Which made me reminisce about my childhood. It was my turn to walk down memory lane, but not on one of the most pleasurable roads.

For reasons I am not sure of, my mom would feed us peas and pasta. Not one of my siblings liked the meal. I would sit there picking out the peas while mom would yell and leave me sitting at the table alone. I would hear my favorite tv shows in the next room while I was stuck at the table with a cold meal and warm tears.

What seemed like an eternity would go by until she became so frustrated, I was freed by an aggravated warden.

As my dad and I ate, I would inconspicuously move the peas to the lower right side corner of the plate, hoping for him not to notice. What I forgot is that I am not longer a child that had to hide her disdain of peas (or for anything else for that matter) from her dad.

When we were full and waiting for containers to take our left over food home, my dad looked at my plate. Oh no...he noticed said my inner child. I made a joke about the peas in the corner of my plate. Almost like a silly confession. To my surprise, he was totally unaware. No notice of the removal. No buzzing of the funny bone in the Operation patient. Not on his radar screen.

So it made me realize that no matter how old we grow, how some things trigger our youth, for better or for worse.