Buttered Toast

How you love anything is how you love everything

The Tale of Two Wolves

---------------^---------------

One evening an old Cherokee told his grandson about a battle that goes on inside people. He said, “My son, the battle is between two “wolves” inside us all.

One is Evil. It is anger, envy, jealousy, doubt, sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority, and ego.

The other is Good. It is joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy, generosity, forgiveness, truth, compassion, and faith.”

The grandson thought about it for a minute and then asked his grandfather: “Which wolf wins?”

The old Cherokee simply replied, “The one you feed.”

---------------^--------------

Dear Aly and Bella,

Remember the movie The Karate Kid?

I have a dear friend, Ron, who is like Mr. Miyagi. Japanese. Calm. Wise. Peaceful. The old sage you would find on the peak of a mountain capable of answering your most longing question. He’d answer your question with another question,  just the right one – that would lead you to your answer. That’s Ron.

Twenty years ago, long before your souls were gifted to Mom and me, Ron and I took part in a personal development retreat and found ourselves in a conversation about love. Ron told a moving story about his grandma and her unconditional love. I still remember it as if it were yesterday.

As a young child, about the age of ten, Ron and his cousins would pick strawberries in the fields near their home. On Saturday mornings, Ron’s aunts and his grandma would prepare a breakfast banquet for their extended family. Eggs, bacon, waffles with strawberry syrup, fresh strawberry jam, and best of all – buttered toast – Ron’s favorite.

Reflecting on this family ritual almost fifty years later, what Ron remembered most wasn’t the occasional berry fights, the food flavors, or the camaraderie of the family gatherings. What Ron remembered most vividly was how his grandma buttered the toast.

Why a ten-year-old would watch Grandma butter toast remains a mystery to Ron. But he did watch, and he was taken by it. Mesmerized by it. Later in life, moved by it.

Grandma wouldn’t just spread the butter here and there – well enough to get breakfast on the table – or well enough for the hungry mouths of Ron and his peeps to devour a piece in four or five bites. Instead, with an artist's discipline and careful touch, Ron’s grandma would slide a warm knife into the butter, start spreading at the center, and work outward to the edges. Slowly. Tenderly. Patiently. Meticulously ensuring no area was left uncovered, and there were no unwanted dollops.

The same precise process. Over and over. Slice after slice. Dozens of perfectly buttered pieces stacked eight-high, with diagonal creases.

To Ron, it was unconditional love in action.

It is said that how you do anything is how you do everything. It is also true that how you love anything is how you love everything – a piece of toast, your children, your grandchildren.

***

Aly and Bella, one day, a few years back, in the kitchen of our old house with the big magnolia on 10^th Street, you started your day with a royal argument. You were ten at the time. I recall you both wanted to wear the same shirt to school. Back and forth you went about whose turn it was. True to form, Bella, you escalated with force – pushing and elbowing your sister. Aly you retaliated with your sharp tongue to get under Bella’s skin.

Standing about ten feet from ground zero of your fight, I was preparing your breakfast and packing your lunches. I raised my voice to get you to stop. It didn’t work. Your egos kept up the tug of war, and the standoff continued. Irritated, I threatened to withhold something of value to you – I can’t recall what – and that didn’t work either.

I got madder.

Then your toast popped up.

Bella, within an instant, you yelled, “I’ll take peanut butter!”

Over the top of Bella, Aly, you yelled, “I’ll take cinnamon!”

Our typical daily routine: same packed lunches, same toast.

Today: same shirt! Different toast?

Really?

You should be more grateful, I thought. You have about thirty shirts to pick from. And why could you tell each other “I love you” before falling asleep every night and then wake up most days and pick on each other?

I felt even more irritated. I was about to throw your toast in the sink. And then…

I remembered Ron’s grandma.

Her love. Her devoted service to others – buttering toast and asking for nothing in return. Did she have mornings where she got irritated and fed up with others? Or wished to be somewhere else than preparing the buffet?

Even with the presence of Ron’s grandma, I still didn’t want to spread my love to the edges of your toast.

Or did I?

The two wolves inside of me were locked eye to eye.

I saw the bad wolf smirking; head tilted toward the sink – raising an eyebrow – tempting me to give over to the anger. To drop the toast.

I saw the good wolf smiling warmly, head leaning toward the cinnamon and sugar – signaling that my deft touch could indeed paint to the crust with sweet love.

Neither Ron nor I will ever know how his grandma did it week in, week out. But at that moment, in our old kitchen on 10^th Street with the big magnolia in the front yard, because of Ron’s grandma, I recognized that I had a choice – to give over to my anger and feed the bad wolf. Or nod to it, acknowledge it, and not feed it while re-orienting to the kindness and generosity inherent in the good wolf.

“The one you feed.” - replied the old Cherokee.

Starting with the center and working outward, I spread butter, sprinkled cinnamon & sugar, and then spread peanut butter – all the way to the edges. 

Little did Ron’s grandma know fifty years ago, or would Ron know in his childhood, or would Ron suspect when relating the buttered toast story to me, or would I know when I heard the story before you were born, that Ron’s grandma and her unconditional love would visit us in our kitchen that morning?

***

Bellz and Deedz (I love calling you by your nicknames), the two wolves are always present in us. At your innocent age, you might think you can starve the Evil wolf to death. You can’t. He’ll always be in you. He’ll always be in me too.

People die. Memories fade. But love? Love doesn’t die. It endures by nourishing our Good wolves. We do this ongoingly with our thoughts, with our attention, with our energy, and with our actions.

So I leave you with this: What is the toast you can butter with your love today? ❤️

I love you more today than all other days combined.

Dad.

***

I hope this piece brought a smile to your face, meaning to your life, or touched your heart. Please feel free to share with others, offer a comment, or ❤️ at the bottom.

Thank you, Haley Brengartner at Insane In The Membrane, John Nicholas at Creator’s Corner, and Drake Green at Green’s Thoughts, for your contributions and superb editing help.