A Slice of Perspective

by Sherry Riter in Dad,Memory,Mom

A hot portion of apple pie emits the “smell of home.”

Something about the flakey crust and that bubbling goo around the apples brings a bit of nostalgia to our senses before we even put the fork to our lips to experience the first bite.

apple pie

Amidst the fireflies, caterpillars, soft kittens and backyard swing memories, are the moments in a long ago time that molded our character.

Childhood. Those moments that we thought would never end.

Back in the olden days, as my daughter would say to me now, I watched Elvis, Gun Smoke and Hee-Haw on a black and white television. There were fans in the windows to provide “air conditioning” and a slice of buttered bread was the “treat”. As a young child barely two, I would stay up late with my parents, rock in my little black rocking chair and watch late night movies. Inevitably, both parents would fall asleep and when the movie was over, I would awaken them and we all went to bed.

I slept in the middle.

Smack dab in the middle of both my mother and father.

On a double bed.


Quite contented, peaceful and happy.

On one side I could cuddle the back of my dad who was drowned in Old Spice. Alternately, on the other side was my powdered, lotioned and Channel No. 5 covered mom. Her long black hair would tickle my nose. But I was safe and I knew I was loved.

I think I was the only one who ever slept soundly for years.

They never complained.

I realize now how tiny the bed really was and yet, every night they slept on the edges and gave me the entire middle of the bed.

Night after night, I would jump between their two backs and drift into a fluffy, floating slumber.

That was before I “grew up”.

That was before reality and life experiences.

However, there were enough of those scrunched-in-the-middle-between-their-backs experiences to shape my view of myself.

They told me I sang beautifully.

They said I was sweet.

Their accolades of my millions of talents were endless.

No, I was not a prodigy of any kind, but I felt like I was “somebody important.”

They said that no one in the world loved me as much as they did and…

I believed them.

Reality eventually caught up with me, but it was too late to destroy what they had instilled inside my tender soul.

My mind and every cell in my brain was already believing that I was wonderful. Nothing could change that perception permanently.

I may trip, fall and even rip the skin off my knee, but I will always stand up proudly because I matter…I count…I make a difference.

I’m thankful that my parents took a slice of pie and gave me the rest of it. Their love for me and the confidence they instilled in me will last forever.

It has enabled me to bake another apple pie, take a slice, and give it to my daughter.

This post was written by...

Sherry Riter is also known as The Redhead Riter. Sherry is witty, intelligent and addictive as she writes about cooking, family, marriage, failures, blogging tips, art, humor, inspiration, travel, PTSD and aging. Her goal is to inspire, motivate, educate and to make her audience laugh. Sherry embraces being a redhead and helps others to see the redhead point of view…"In some eras redheads were worshipped while others thought us witches. Personally, I like the former and think every day is 'Love a redhead day!'" She can also be found on Facebook, Google+, Pinterest, StumbleUpon, Linkedin, tweeting as @TheRedheadRiter and you can subscribe to her free blog feed.

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