Taco Meat

I may have mentioned that my mother was single when she had me, and still when she had my brother.  I was three and a half when he was born, and went from being the center of my mother’s world to being pushed aside because a new baby demanded all the energy a clinically depressed woman can muster.

It took me a long time to figure out why I have always expected to be rejected.  It actually took years of reflection, counseling, and sifting through the detritus of my first two and a half decades to excavate the origins of my demons.

My mother has told me the story, a couple of times, of me coming to her after Ed was born and asking her why she didn’t love me, anymore.  She explained to me that Ed was helpless, and that we had to take care of him, because if we didn’t, he would die.  That moment clicked immediately.  While I don’t remember that, I do remember my mother raving about the tasks she would give me to do.  She’d send me to get her a wash cloth.  When I brought it to her, she’d tell me that it was the perfect temperature.  She’d tell me she was so proud of me.  “Oh, Jenna.  You’re Mama’s big helper!”

The reason this entry is called taco meat is because it was taco meat that I was cooking when standing on a chair in the kitchen when I was about eight years old.  I was chopping the meat in the pan while my mom prepared the other ingredients for tacos.  I got to a point where I asked her how it looked.  She said, “Oh, Jenna!  That’s the best meat, I’ve ever seen!” She called my stepfather in, “Daddy, come look.  Isn’t this the best taco meat ever?”  Daddy raved about it, as well, and I believed I had a special knack for making taco meat.

Then another time I cooked the taco meat, I got no praise for it.  She said, “it looks good,” and that was the end of it.  For years, every time I cooked taco meat, I made mental notes of what worked best and what didn’t.  It has to be thawed before you begin (my mom taught me a method of steaming frozen hamburger in case you forget to thaw it in time for dinner).  It’s best cooked on medium high, in a non-stick pan, and chopped with a wooden spatula.  I was probably in my thirties before I put it together that the first time I made taco meat, it wasn’t extraordinary.  It was my mom’s way of telling me she loved me, but even now that I’m almost 50, I still make an effort to recreate that first creation.

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October 1, 2019

I think we all try to do the things we were taught the same way we were first taught.  I know I use to put clean pillow cases on starting from inside out and turning it right side…..I did that for a long time then I realized I didn’t have to do it that way because this other way worked just as good.  But there are a lot of things I still do the way my mom does them…..Old habits are hard to break.

October 1, 2019

It’s interesting that something as simple as cooking taco meat can be used as a way for a parent to show that they love their child.

October 1, 2019

It’s weird and fascinating and frustrating how stuff like that has such a huge influence. Your mom’s intentions were good, but then it had a role in how you behaved later on. The fact that you were cooking when you were 8 is mind blowing to me. Of course, with my history, I think people preferred me not trying to cook. It’s weird because I recently wrote an entry from a memory from when I was 8 and how it impacted me. It’s hard when you spend your life just trying to make people proud of you. That’s what I’ve been doing as well.

October 2, 2019

Hug I think you are amazing and brilliant and I enjoy reading your entries. You remind me of me to a degree.

October 3, 2019

That’s pretty good insight to piece together the taco meat and how it affected you.

Life is so weird when we stop to think of the subconscious reasons we do the things we do. When our minds are developing we take these cues and run with them. Looking for approval where we can find it. Anything to tell us we are loved.

I was 5 when my baby sister was born. I was the baby for a whole 5 years. I still have a memory of my dad screaming at me because I was going to wake the baby. That is my first memory of the wrath of dad. I was terrified. I know now as an adult he just wanted me to let the baby sleep.  But he could have handled it a whole different way.