April 24, 2008


At dinner tonight I had a baked potato. I reflected back to when i was a child and my mother invariably ate my potato skin. Ewww... the nasty brown part that sat in the earth. We peel carrots because the skins are not appealing. Yet the potato looms large on the childs plate. Ever larger and knotted. Moled and pocked with eyes and dark bits we can't be sure aren't lingering earth rather than smooth and clean. As I ate my potato I wondered how many potato skins I would steal from my future child. I relish those skins now. The white part of the potato is great for fries and mashed potatoes, but it's the baked potato skin that makes me smile at dinner. I hear the distant laughter of a child saying, "Daddy, you can steal my potato skin." and later the faux cry to her mother. "Mommy, daddy stole my potato skin." The mock horror hiding the lilting laugh in the cherubic face. A strange thought for me to have. It leaves me with a wondering smile.


At 5:33 PM, Blogger Buffalo said...

Good writing. Good memory.

At 8:51 PM, Blogger buddha_girl said...


My kid, Buddha, lives for the moment when I scoop out the steaming, fluffy innards of a perfectly baked potato and mix it with a bit of (REAL) butter. He calls the skins "ookey." I relish his opinion because I'll eat two skins before delving into the fluffy stuff.


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