Chef's Choice

Photo by lasse bergqvist on Unsplash

It was never a choice. Fifteen years old and living the life of sunshines and seashells on Long Beach Island, New Jersey. It was a call from my sister about a job, for a man she had previously worked for.

So I went to see the man and was offered a job washing dishes. About as inspiring as my first job, bagging groceries.

But then my boss asked me to help with the cooking, and now I was inspired. See, it was never a choice.

Well, I learned to cook, then helped run a larger restaurant my boss opened, and ultimately attended Culinary school. Now I was considered a chef.

I enjoyed the cooking and the smiles on the faces of the guests. I enjoyed the friends, parties after. It was an enjoyable existence. But the hours were long and hectic and kept me away from my family as it was starting to grow.

I was doing what I loved, but I loved my family more. So I eventually left the business to work in a factory for my father-in-law. It felt great for a while, but as I've said, I never really had a choice.

After all, my boys were almost grown. I went back to the business, back to the kitchen, back to cooking.

I know this wasn't the real cause of my divorce, but it didn't help my marriage. Six years since I moved from New Jersey. I am starting to grow up; I took a 9-5 job, actually the hours are 5:30 am till 2 pm. Weekends off, a steady fluid existence. I'm not discounting my chef life, but I think I've grown up a little since I turned 60.

Thanks for listening. God bless.