Don't be the Mustard

I'm surprised no one has told The Mustard story yet. I'll do my best to do it justice, but I expect you all to correct me or add details when I get the story wrong. I will correct the blog entry as need be. This is the way I remember Mom and Dad's classic FHE lesson:

PROLOGUE:

There was a problem in the family with individuals rebelling against what the parental units had planned for our family. It could have been me; I remember being threatened with the consequence of not going to the zoo with the rest of the family if I didn't finish eating my sandwich. (I don't recall whether I was allowed to "finish it in the car" or whether I was left at home for hours.) At any rate, it was clear that we needed a lesson on how our personal actions affected the rest of the family.

THE LESSON:

It was an emotionally charged FHE. Dad informed us with a smile that we would have an EXTRA special treat that night. We would either rush through the FHE lesson or skip it all together, which naturally elated all of us kids.

Sooner than later, we were all seated in our natural order around the dinner table. Mom wouldn't stop bringing sunday toppings over from the other side of the kitchen. In addition to various kinds of ice cream, there were bananas, nuts, sprinkles, chocolate syrup and melted caramel, and cherries. Dad said that there were only two rules. The first was that we each had to take ownership of an ingredient and chose whether or not to contribute it to enhance the sunday. The second rule was that we weren't allowed to dig in until everyone had contributed--a total catch 22. (I felt like I was one of six judges at a secret disciplinary council, deciding the innocence or guilt of the ice cream sunday in the middle of us.)

One by one, each of us was asked the question, "Bryan, Do you choose on your own free will to contribute your ingredient to the suday?" "Yes, I do." Then I got to choose how much chocolate sauce to add. (I don't remember which ingredient I had, all I remember specifically is that Noelle was in complete charge of the cherries, and she almost created a new lesson due to her choices.)

When Dad came around to her, she was VERY reluctant to share. It took both Mom and Dad to coax her into sharing her beautiful maraschino cherries. She didn't flinch when she was told that if she chose to keep her cherries to herself, she wouldn't be able to enjoy the rest of the sunday like those who chose to share. I think the thing that pushed her charitable hear to give in was owning the guilt of knowing that she would make the rest of us sad that we wouldn't be able to enjoy the sunday. She adorably handed over her little dish of cherries (notably fewer cherries than than when she first received the dish).

The funny and most memorable part of the story was that, somehow, Belle was able to sneek her arm past Dad and pluck cherries from off the side of the sunday as he was preparing to share the moral of this "lesson". SHE NABBED AT LEAST 3 FROM RIGHT BENEATH HIS NOSE. Mom had to go back to the source to add more to the sunday so that there would be enough for each person at the table. It was brilliant in retrospect, but I remember being genuinely worried that if she didn't stop, our entire cherry supply would be depleted before Dad added his final, secret ingredient.

CLIMAX:

Idealistically, this is how the final dialogue went:

Dad: "I am really proud of you for all choosing to contribute to the family sunday. Do you see how much better the sunday is when we add delicious toppings to it?"

The mountain of ice cream was truly a marvel to behold! I couldn't even break my eyes away from the ice cream to look at Dad when he wanted our attention. I was already carving out my piece with my imagination.

Dad: "Are we ready to eat it now?"

Heather: "No, we can't. You haven't added your ingredient yet."

From underneath the table, Dad pulled out a giant bottle of picnick mustard.

[What are you doing, you fool!] I cried out in my mind as my dry mouth hung open, speechless.

We all watched as dad liberally swirled the mustard around and around, covering the entire surface area of the sunday with the chunky, yellow topping.

Mom came and stood next to Dad and they looked at us. "Who wants some now?"

My mind raced to figure out a way to separate the evil mustard from the rest of my delicious sunday without mixing it in. It would be impossible. . .

Mom: "As you can all see, it only takes one of us to ruin the sunday for the rest of the family. So when there is a family decision to be made or an activity to do, this is what we want you to remember--DON'T BE THE MUSTARD!

EPILOGUE:

Mom and Dad were kind enough to mend our broken hearts by salvaging what could be salvaged from the defiled sunday and built it up again with toppings, better than it was originally (minus a few cherries).

The "Mustard Lesson" has since been recorded in our family's history as one of the greatest FHE lessons of all time. The catch-phrase "Don't be the mustard" was used and understood throughout the following decade whenever there was an family issue that warranted a reminder.

As a parent, I definitely plan to have that lesson with my children even if they don't need it. It will always be a good reminder for me.

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Listening to: The Mormon Tabernacle Choir - Peace Like a River