My mom used to make Spaghetti, when I was young.

She would always break the Spaghetti into smaller pieces, then cook it. Being my mother, I didn’t feel it necessary to ask why, but in later years the question did come up.

“Why did mom do that?”

She is not around anymore, so I can’t just call her on Skype or use my Cell Phone to get the answer. Even when she was alive, I didn’t pose the question, but I did ask my Sister, how she prepared Spaghetti.

“Whole of course, not like Mom!”

“Why did she do something like that?”

It’s kind of like asking why, when I was hungry and didn’t know when we were going to eat, she’d just say, “In 2 shakes of a lamb’s tail”!. That was enough of an answer to know that no matte,r how much I patted my stomach, or complained that I was going to die, that I would get any other answer than that! She always made us dinner without fail, and there wasn’t any reason to doubt her otherwise.

Tonight, I made dinner for the family. I cooked the Spaghetti, whole of course and served it in the same way. I was reminded of my Mom’s way of cooking Spaghetti, and a tiny part of me wanted to break the Spaghetti, before cooking. What would my family have said? “What were you thinking about? Why did you do that? What was the purpose of doing just that?”

You see. They would end up asking the same question that has bothered me all these years, “Why did she do just that?”

I decided to leave well enough alone, and let my family eat their whole Spaghetti in peace.

Sometime, somewhere, in the future, when I am alone, and cooking Dinner for just myself, I might just go down the road of broken Spaghetti.

Then, I could think of my mother, and wonder about her mystical Broken Spaghetti ways, while I ate it……

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