Almost every childhood memory I have is centred on food. Telling stories around a crowded table at holiday dinners, the smell of roasting vegetables, the sensation(感受) of heat coming from the kitchen, all picture a familiar feeling of love and comfort.
My favourite memory of all is of my grandparents making and baking bread together. To this day, I have never tasted bread that is as delicious as theirs. No other loaf has ever been made with that kind of powerful, unconditional love.
When our son Brian, one of seventh graders, began to refuse usual communication with me, I felt desperate. How I missed those lovely old days when he couldn't wait to tell me his stories in kindergarten the moment, I arrived home without getting changed! And there were also times when he brought loads of storybooks to me and demanded to be told all the stories before going to bed. But I didn't know since when everything changed. There was hardly any sharing about his daily school life with friends or any trouble about his schoolwork. Most of the time, his bedroom door was closed. The cold silence between us seemed to warn me that love between us began to fade.
At that time, like most mothers, I couldn't focus on work and couldn't sleep well. Why did things go off track so much? Was it because my work took away most of my energy that family love was taken for granted? Was it because my only precious spare time went too much to my two-year-old baby daughter that Brian's need for my company was ignored? The more I reflected, the more I felt myself to blame and it was my responsibility to find a way out.
One day, as my eyes landed onto the bread on the kitchen table, I was reminded of those sweet childhood memories. "Could food help us make a change?" I wondered.
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With an uneasy feeling, I decided to try.
……
More than that, one weekend evening, Brian offered to help me in the kitchen.
