the popcorn disaster, or: the difference between me and my parents (and maybe you)
One of the best parts of living downtown is being just a block away from the local market. Every Saturday morning, I wake up to coffee with a slight tinge of raspberry and wander through gazing at delectable food. A personal favorite is kettle corn, served fresh. It is something I often crave and can never fill the void with microwavable popcorn. But this is another story - at least for now.
Being involved in tech, we are branded with this mysterious label of ‘just understanding’. This makes us the people to ask when anyone has computer troubles even if it is with a piece of software you have never seen in your life. It is a well-known burden we must live with and one that I usually do with grace.
There is, however, the occasional time when someone (my mother) asks the same question more than once (half a dozen times). Frustrated, I finally blurted: “why don’t you just try to figure this out yourself?”
“I’m afraid I’ll break it”, she replied.
This astonished me. I had never in my life had any sort of fear of breaking software. Every little button is there with purpose. Any action that might take you in a direction you may not want to go displays some sort of prompt, explaining what will happen.
She dismissed this explanation, pointing out that carelessness is my approach to everything in life. The lack of safety and concern was a product of my youth and that I will eventually understand what it means to be responsible.
After a long Monday, I am craving some kettle corn. The market is long closed and I haven’t a clue how to make it. But I’ll be damned if I won’t try.
I gather my ingredients, ripping open a microwavable popcorn bag and dumping it into the largest pot I can find. I toss about half a cup of sugar and an eighth cup of salt.
The result? A caramelized-sugar covered kitchen, splatter burns and a lot of burnt popcorn.
It was an ultimate failure but I am glad I did it. I learned a lot of things from such a stupid, irresponsible move. I learned that the cheap paint in my apartment’s kitchen wipes off with warm water and a bit of elbow grease. I witnessed what the inside of a popcorn bag looks like and just how disgusting the amount of butter is. And, perhaps best of all, with a little more planning and a little less heat - I could probably pull this off next time.
I guess in the smallest, most immature way this is what people have been talking about all along when they say ‘taking risks’.
My lack of ‘responsibility’ is what makes me good at nearly everything I have ever been good at. Cleaning up the mess when this curiosity leads me astray is the definition of being responsible. Handing off a problem for someone else to fix, holding them responsible if they break it, is not.
And that is the difference between me and my parents - and maybe you.
