In celebration of Faven’s second year in our family, and in Canada, I opted for Ethiopian food instead of traditional Thanksgiving fare. I made the chicken stew, or Doro Wet a day ahead, as it takes an unfathomable period of time for onions to turn to paste and to get the deep and spicy taste that is characteristic of this dish. To add to the menu, I made a traditional Mesir Wet, lentils, thick with onions, garlic and ginger; two kinds of potatoes and (for my more picky daughter), teriyaki chicken. By now I had a degree of experience with Ethiopian cooking, so I didn’t stress too much about making it just right. In fact, I couldn’t get to the specialty store to buy Injera, so I had my husband pick up Na’an bread instead. Unheard of!
Our family had arrived, and I placed the dishes on the table, calling out the name of each one. Faven was very pleased. All was well in the world. Moments later, Faven got up from her seat at the head of the table and went to mix up some olive oil and berbere spice – clearly signifying that I had not made the chicken spicy enough for her. Not surprising. However, when she sat back down, I watched with concealed agitation as she doused her whole plate in homemade hot sauce. I was devastated.
I tried to bite my tongue. Alas, it didn’t taste good.
As I have done for two years, I made her action, to spread hot sauce all over her food, about me. Clearly, I thought, she didn’t appreciate my efforts or for that matter, me! I gently reminded her that not all dishes in Ethiopia are soaked in hot sauce; some have other distinct flavors RUINED by hot sauce. My sarcasm and disappointment were lost on her. She had a great evening with family, and I too, lightened up and enjoyed the family around me.
The truth is that since Faven’s arrival to Canada in October of 2009, food has been one of the greatest challenges in our quest to assimilate. That has come as a great surprise to me. Two years in and I am still amazed, offended and angry when Faven shrieks, “You want me to eat this!” It happens weekly, despite the efforts we have made to cater to her. On a good day, I would stare at her with bulging eyes, while thinking, you have got to be kidding me – where were you born? On a bad day, there would be a long and lengthy tirade about how much work went into preparing this food, how much the food cost, how thankful we should be for this food, and that I did it because I love her! (Pause to ponder: How could anyone, lest a pubescent Ethiopian-born adopted child, feel loved with their mother screaming frenetically at them?) So each and every time I went into a tirade, so did Faven; and hers started with some form of, “YOU DON’T LOVE ME!”
When Faven joined our family, I was well established as the chief cook and bottle-washer and had done it without criticism. I cooked a variety of things to appeal to the different tastes and desires within our family. However, we were all, basically, choosing from the same palette – some wanted more color, some wanted less. Even when Yohannes joined our family, he ate all the things that I prepared for him, with the exception of potatoes. In hindsight, I realize that Yohannes had a huge inner drive to become a Flemons, whereas Faven was well on her way to simply being Faven. That is what I didn’t initially get; I made the great error of assuming that Faven would be thrilled to join our family (and therefore would be overjoyed to conform). Ironically, I was equally confounded (in 2006) by the fact that Yohannes was delighted to join our family. Go figure.
Food can be a tremendous source of comfort. Within weeks of Faven’s arrival, we had hired a part time Ethiopian woman to come and help with the cooking. On those days, one could see Faven unwind a little bit. She joyfully hung her head over the edge of the steaming pots as her favorite smells filled the room. I was grateful. Whenever I travel to another country, my suitcase is packed with a few favorites, just in case they don’t have anything that I like. So, why was I having such difficulty accepting Faven’s refusal to eat what I cooked?
I needed more information; I needed to find a way to accept that Faven did not like the same foods as me. I headed into cyberspace to read about taste and taste buds. There was no absolute answer, but it is known that we each experience taste differently. Our own personal tastes are possibly something we are born with, like a personality trait. Taste is affected by our sense of smell, the temperature of the food, age and quite likely, ethnicity. So it makes perfect sense that Faven and I do not like the same foods. But that is not the whole picture.
Part of my care-taking role is to feed my children; therefore, cooking was integral to my becoming her mother… wasn’t it? My emotions were steamed into the food that contacted her senses. Food became a tangible thing by which I could measure our relationship. I had inadvertently created the following ‘formula’:
(Food + Appreciation) Intention = LOVE.
In my baffled brain, it seemed simple and completely rational; food would bring us together. From the get-go, it was not so.
Through agonizing hours of battle over food, and with significant supportive therapy, I came to realize that the battle was not about food. That fact, and truly, it is a fact, did not seem to initially lessen my personal reaction to her outbursts. Her tantrums occasionally bordered on ridiculous. One day, my husband had made rice for supper; this was one of Faven’s favorites. He went around the table and put a dollop on everyone’s plate. When he got to Faven, she covered her plate with her hands and shrieked like a pre-school child who didn’t want to take her clothes off at bath-time. My husband, presuming that she was being silly, dropped the sticky, hot rice on top of her spread out hands. She reacted without restraint– she thrashed, she railed, she cried and finally she fled. We were speechless and utterly bewildered. Later, she revealed that she was upset because her Dad did not stop to ask her if she wanted rice. All of our best logic was lost on her. She wanted to be asked; she wanted some control.
Ward and I attended a parenting workshop on the “Circle of Security” and how it pertains to our children and ourselves. It is a complex set of skills to learn, and is not necessarily intuitive. A basic tenant of the “Circle” is that our key role as parent is to support our children and to follow their need. That is easy to do only if we completely remove emotion from all situations. Not realistic. So, the greatest work comes when dealing with our children’s misbehavior, or rather a behavior that makes us uncomfortable and elicits big emotional reactions (either by them, or by us). The seminar taught us that our children are not simply misbehaving; the greater purpose of our their behavior is to tell us something important is going on, and that they need our help. Realistically, we are not always able to understand, accept or handle our kid’s big emotions. But we strive to ensure our kids know that all feelings are accepted.
Faven’s needs are complicated. She clearly has needs that we do not understand, do not make sense and therefore frustrate us. However, we undermine the message if we continue to shoot the messenger. Food is essential to survival –so is love. For love to occur, there must be a secure attachment. For Faven and I, it is safer and perhaps easier to make food about love, as it is less vulnerable. If I feed her and she doesn’t like the food, she will be hungry, but continue to yearn. But if I love her, and she doesn’t accept it, she starves.
