WHO SAID 'PERFECT'?
When I was a child, my parents would take turns at doing the house chores. On Friday evenings we would always have a light meal instead of the usual dinner. It consisted of toast, scrambled eggs, and the occasional apple pie slice, all accompanied by a suitable juice or tea.
One day, when I got home from school, it smelled of burning. When I entered the kitchen, I saw that my father had just burnt some of the toast that we were going to have for tea. Just then my mother arrived from work. After taking her coat off, she kissed us both and sat at the table
'How was your day at the school?' she asked me.
'Fine', I answered.
Meanwhile I was waiting for her reaction to my father's cooking disaster.
But she said nothing. She just picked up piece after piece of toast, spreading some scrambled eggs on it and went on talking with my father about the plans for the following weekend.
Even after my father apologized to us both for the burnt bread, my mother just replied:
'Don't worry, darling; I love burnt toast.'
Rather than being unkind, I kept my comments to myself.
Later on, when my mother came to kiss me goodnight, I asked her if she really liked burnt toast. I will never forget her answer.
'Darling, your father had a very tiring day at work and did his best to please both of us. Why would I criticize him? None of us is perfect and you certainly have already eaten some food I made which was not at its best. The most important is what we all do to make our house a home.'