My name is Dorothy Hale and I am a sixty three year old retired office administrator living in Barrie Ontario. I raised my only son Owen mostly on my own after his father left us many years ago. I worked incredibly hard for three decades to pay my bills and eventually pay off my mortgage. I have always believed in helping my family whenever possible. Unfortunately my family gradually began confusing my kindness with absolute obligation. This painful realization started on a Thursday afternoon when my son called to ask if I would prepare my famous honey glazed ham because his wife Christa was expecting her wealthy parents for the weekend. The very next day I visited my trusted butcher Mr Kowalski to purchase a beautiful twelve pound smoked ham for eighty four dollars. I woke up early Saturday morning to score the meat and prepare my homemade glaze using honey brown sugar mustard roasted garlic and apple cider. I spent four hours carefully basting the roast until it was perfectly golden while also preparing a large dish of scalloped potatoes specifically because my ten year old granddaughter Maya absolutely loved them.
On Sunday afternoon I wrapped the warm food in thick towels and drove forty minutes to my son’s house. Christa opened the side door and simply told me to leave the heavy roasting pan on the kitchen counter. I brushed off her cold tone and walked inside to find her parents Gerald and Elaine already sitting comfortably in the dining room. Maya hugged me and expressed her joy about the cheesy potatoes I made for her. I went into the kitchen to carve the ham and arrange the beautiful slices on a large serving platter. Looking toward the dining room table I noticed exactly five plates set for the evening meal. There was a plate for Gerald Elaine Christa Owen and Maya but absolutely no place setting for me. Christa walked into the kitchen and informed me that there were old leftovers in the refrigerator for me to eat because tonight’s special dinner was reserved exclusively for their guests. When I questioned this decision she requested that I not make the situation awkward. I looked toward my son Owen for support but he simply stared at the floor and refused to defend me or offer me a chair.
I felt too exhausted to explain why I deserved a place at the family table so I simply acknowledged her statement and picked up the heavy roasting pan. Christa asked what I was doing and I calmly explained that I was taking my dinner home with me. I walked outside and carefully placed the twelve pound ham on the passenger seat of my car and fastened the seat belt securely around it before driving away in complete silence. Nobody came outside to stop me and Owen only sent a message later to complain that his guests were still waiting to eat. As I drove down the highway I began thinking about all the financial support I had been providing them for years. I was still paying the monthly phone bills for both Owen and Christa on my family plan. I was paying for my son’s car insurance every single month. I was also transferring four hundred dollars to their bank account every month to help cover expenses for Maya. I suddenly realized that I had become necessary to their financial survival but completely optional to their family celebrations.