I’ve talked before about the Slamdunk School of Cooking and the Slamdunk Homeschool, and other variations, but maybe I haven’t explained truly what it means to be part of the Slamdunk School. Since I was a child, my dad has claimed the roll of headmaster for this school. Whenever he taught us something or life taught us something, it was the Slamdunk School of Whatever. So, for cooking, I call it the Slamdunk School of Cooking because I don’t follow recipes. Sure I can read them, but generally, I read recipes to get an idea for how something should be cooked. Like, meringue for example. I learned how to whip a meringue in a food processor following a handwritten recipe for a souffle cake written in French and measured using the metric system. Right, what I mean to say is that I learned how to whip meringue on my own via trial and error. Slamdunk school of Cooking hard at work. Or how about Alfredo…from a jar. No seriously, I messed this up so bad that it was inedible. I found a jar of Alfredo and I followed the instructions very literally. Granted I was 12 at the time and it was my first real venture into cooking something that wasn’t spaghetti or pancakes, and I tried to boil the fettuccine in, IN, the Alfredo sauce. The instructions didn’t clearly delineate between cooking the sauce and the fettuccine. Also, I was an idiot.
So other people might call it the school of hard knocks, but I prefer Slamdunk, because it’s hopeful. Sure, I learned the hard way, 4 hours on the highway away from anyone I knew, that that weird noise was my transmission falling out of my Ford Ranger. And I learned with bloody knuckles how to take out an alternator, and that when I took it in for repair the man behind the counter would assume someone else did it for me. If it was the school of hard knocks, I might be a little bitter about a man assuming I was incapable because I was a woman, but this is the SLAMDUNK School, I’m proud of myself for challenging that man’s ideas.
This is hope for me. I am now and will forever be a part of the Slam Dunk School of Life and I am a proud student. I will learn everything the school throws at me, and maybe teach a few things along the way too. My dad was headmaster and student, and now I am headmaster and student. As of this post, I think the most important lesson the school has taught me is to be who I am. Sure you’ve heard this, but it means more to me than the trite ‘just be you’ you hear occasionally. To me, being who I am means that sometimes I have to work toward being who I am meant to be. Am I meant to be a blogger? I don’t know, but I am going to work it until I figure it out. Am I meant to be a good mother? Hell yes, I am! But sometimes, I have to remember that in the middle of the day and revise the person I am being in that moment. So, the Slamdunk School gives me hope. Hope that wherever and whoever I am in that moment, I will always be able to learn who I am.
Ugh, this post got a bit mushy. Have a fucking meme or two to brighten things up.