Every year we make the pilgrimage out to my mother’s home to celebrate Thanksgiving. Every year the table is set with all the traditional foods, mashed potatoes, yams, green bean casserole, crescent rolls, pumpkin pie, lime jello, pineapple salad and, of course, a 20 pound turkey stuffed with a sausage and almond stuffing made from my grandmother’s recipe… which, by the way, has never been written down! I always bring the home made cranberry sauce and a “vegetarian” dish for my older children.
This year, my husband was in the kitchen when I was in my cooking frenzy. He watched as I poured two bowls of cranberry sauce and held one into the air. “This one,” I announced, “is for us”. He shrugged his shoulders and said “OK”. He was completely underwhelmed. He stole some shredded cheese from my bowl and said very casually, “I don’t like cranberry sauce”.
I have been feeding this man for over 17 years. I thought back to all the Thanksgiving dinners we have celebrated together. I mentally pictured his plate: no yams, no green bean casserole, no lime jello, double serving of stuffing and a turkey leg and, yes… my cranberry sauce!
“But you eat it every year! ” I was floored.
Every year since our daughters could reach the stove, we have made the sauce. Sometimes we make a fancy one with orange zest and nuts, but we always have one bowl of the original. It was so wonderful to see our little girl proudly place a dish she made on her grandmother’s table and listen to the compliments from family members.
“I only eat it because you make it.” he said as he casually ate more shredded cheese.
“But you don’t eat all the other food you don’t like. You don’t eat yams or jello and will pass up dessert completely if there is only pumpkin pie”. I really was confused.
“Yes, but you don’t make any of that.” he answered, stole more cheese and then went back to his office.
This was a learning moment for me. It was a lesson about the language of love spoken by a husband and father. You see, when a man speaks his language of love, it rarely includes words. A man’s language of love come from actions.
Every Thanksgiving, my husband must have watched me and one of our daughters making a simple cranberry sauce over the stove, put it into a crystal dish and set it on my mom’s Thanksgiving table. All these years, I thought he never really noticed or cared. But he had. Even though he never liked cranberries, he knew his wife and daughter would be watching to see who would eat what they had prepared. He always took a good sized serving and complimented us in front of everyone.
I love this about my husband. Even though he is a vet having served with the Marine Corps, this simple action every Thanksgiving makes him my hero. He would never want his wife’s or daughter’s dish to go untouched.
His language of love is there and I must remember to watch for the actions, which, after all, speak much louder than words.