Last year, after receiving a Thanksgiving invitation, I pulled out my dog-eared copy of “How to Be a Polite Guest” and followed the first rule.
I asked the hostess what I could bring.
The answer? Ice cream for the brownies and apple pie.
I then followed the second rule. Unless it was flowers or wine, I would bring nothing other than what the hostess requested.
On Thanksgiving day, my arms overflowed with enough ice cream to open a roadside dairy bar. The hostess greeted us at the front door and gasped. “Why did you bring that? I’m serving an ice cream cake!”
Ice cream cake?
What happened to the brownies? The apple pie?
Apparently, my friend was so consumed by turkey, pilgrims and where to seat Aunt Jackie, she forgot to communicate the menu change. Ice cream cake was in. Brownies and apple pie were out.
She banished my twenty gallons of cholesterol-inducing dairy to the basement freezer.
Although my intrepid hostess had a “failure to communicate” moment, I understood her pain. Unwanted food can create anxiety. When I host a dinner, holiday or otherwise, I plan. I create checklists. The night before, I set the table and lay out serving dishes and utensils. If a guest asks what he/she can bring, I give a specific assignment. Call me obsessive, but when I request a salad, I want a salad.
Not an artichoke casserole.
Not even a salad and an artichoke casserole.
Just the salad.
And despite my clear communication, guests have blindsided me with the unexpected dish.
Why are these unforeseen culinary offerings so problematic?
Consider what happens when Cousin Sam appears with his macaroni and cheese extravaganza. Never mind “The Sam Special” hardly compliments my Asian-themed menu. I now need adequate table space and an extra serving piece. If The Sam Special needs to be heated, one of my own dishes will be booted from the oven. I’ll have to wash a piece of Pyrex the size of a bathtub. And if I give Sam the leftovers, I’ll bid my Tupperware a tearful farewell.
Most guests are savvy enough to avoid showing up with their pit bull or twenty extra friends. But they fail to understand that excess offerings of food can turn the meal into a free-for-all like a buffet at The Golden Coral.
On the drive home after the Thanksgiving dinner, my husband and I discussed my rejected ice cream and this “unexpected dish” dilemma. He believed hosts everywhere need to relax and be flexible. (Keep in mind, this is a guy who used to make himself dinner by dumping a can of Veg-all mixed vegetables into a saucepan of Campbell’s tomato soup.) I tried explaining the amount of work that goes into these meals and how unsettling it can be when our strategies fail to produce the expected result. “Oh, I see,” my husband nodded. “Like when our kids don’t turn out exactly as we planned.”
Such wisdom on a full stomach!
My husband was right. The best laid plans often go awry, particularly when they involve our children. We put our hearts and souls into producing strategies that will give our kids the best foundation. We love unconditionally even when they exhibit behavior we find difficult to love. Then they grow up. And while we can continue to give support, advice and put our Jewish values on display with visible action, kids go off script. But the Torah has many passages which emphasize the importance of individuality. This does not eliminate parental responsibility. The Talmud says a father is obligated, among other things, to teach his son Torah and a trade. In addition: “And some say: A father is also obligated to teach his son to swim.” Kiddushin 29a.
Swim? Our forefathers might not have owned bathing suits and sunscreen, but they understood a good swimmer could keep his head above water in difficult times, go unexpected places and swim with or against the tide.
By accepting that our kids’ lives, words, and choices might stray from our preconceived path, we learn about our children and ourselves. And perhaps we will be better prepared for future communication. We can adjust our expectations or take them in a different direction. What we envisioned might not materialize, and that can be okay. Success isn’t about accomplishing our plan to the letter. It is about forging on even when the plan goes awry. We can’t control our guests or our kids. But we can control our attitude. When our children show a side of themselves that seems foreign or deviates from our master plan (or a guest appears with the unexpected dish) remember this is not intentional sabotage.
Of course, there are times we must speak up and be honest. When a guest asks if she can bring her famous chocolate Limburger cake with pickle icing, we need to offer a diplomatic no. If a guest says, “I’m bringing my own brisket because yours stinks,” we need to pass on the offer and think twice before extending another invitation. The same thinking applies to our children. We need to express ourselves in a firm and honest way and openly call out bad behavior.
So, I’ll appreciate Joan’s gesture and serve her supermarket apple pie next to the blueberry parfait which took me five hours to make. I’ll listen with interest when, instead of a cheese platter, Caroline brings her great-grandmother’s eggplant kugel and shares stories about her family history. I’ll go with the flow when my child shows a trait which makes me wonder if I am actually related to this person. I’ll remember there’s more to life than competition or pursuit of perfection. When I’m surprised by a guest and her unexpected dish or my child and her unexpected decision/comment/goals that just aren‘t what I envisioned, I’ll drop the negativity and enjoy the moment.
We all can benefit from some pot luck thinking.
This article first appeared in The Jewish Advocate, Boston, Mass in 2019.
