I grew up with very little – dinner was often just toast and cheese. At 12, I visited a classmate’s fancy home for a project. The table was full of dishes I’d only seen in magazines. As we ate, I noticed everyone staring when I tried to cut the meat, and her mom suddenly panicked. She rushed to take my knife and fork from my hands, then quickly replaced them with a different set. I froze. My face burned. Everyone was quiet for a second, and then her dad chuckled awkwardly and said something about the “wrong silverware.” I didn’t understand. To me, a fork was a fork. Later, while we worked on our project in her room, my classmate told me—without any malice—that the set I’d picked up was for dessert, not the main course. Her mom had just bought it for a party and didn’t want it scratched. I nodded like I understood, but that night, I went home and cried……CONTINUE READING IN BELOW
From Toast To Tables Full Of Grace
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