Perspective: Sassy Split Pea Soup

This lifetime started out pretty rocky for me. My mother was 16 when I was born and by the time I was five my birth father had left and Mom moved on to another marriage. By the time I was eight my stepdad had relocated us to the mountains west of Boulder, CO. 

One shivering night mom served split pea soup for dinner. One bite told me I hated split pea soup, so I pushed it away making a face showing my disdain. My stepfather yelled, like always, and told me again how selfish and ungrateful I was. 

“After all,” he ranted, “there are children who at this very moment are starving. These children,” he continued, “have no food or a warm bed and would love this soup.” 

That’s when I made my fatal mistake–I got sassy and said they could have my soup. He didn’t hit me but he yanked me out of my chair so fast I thought I was flying. He pulled me into my room and shoved me into my bed so hard I slammed against the wall. I was firmly instructed to stay there till morning with no supper. 

“Your soup will be waiting. It will be your breakfast,” he hissed as he slammed the door.

I still don’t like split pea soup. I’m okay if I’m the only one.

Perspective

It’s not what you look at that matters. It’s what you see.

Henry David Thoreau

Over the years I’ve shared this story with friends and most would comment on how much they love split pea soup. Most of the time the conversation went off into how they liked it fixed–with pork? No meat? With dollops of sour cream and warm french bread? I was always in the minority, I steadfastly held onto and defended my hatred for the vile dish.

Perspective. What each of us thinks and feels matters even if others disagree.

According to the Cambridge dictionary, perspective is a particular way of considering something, a feeling or opinion about something or someone.

Several years ago a half-sister found me through social media. She’s roughly the same age as me but a tad younger. We’ve never really talked, only communicated through messaging and posts. She has told me repeatedly how great our birth father was. I’m always baffled because I didn’t know this man and share no feelings like that.

In her perspective, our father was a great guy, a pastor of his church and devoted to his family.

In my perspective he’d abandoned me and my sister, leaving us at the mercy of an abusive stepfather.

Is one true and the other not? I see her perspective, honest. But she doesn’t understand mine. I see that by accepting my view, it skews hers and messes with her whole perfect family perspective. My acceptance of her view is simple for me, because it really doesn’t matter to me. 

If you love pea soup, great. Doesn’t make any difference to me.

Perspective. Use it or lose it.

Is It Cold In Here?

Years ago, one very frigid winter morning my then teenage daughter stomped down the hall to the livingroom and angrily announced that she was cold. My husband, Craig, her stepfather, immediately replied, “No you’re not, it’s not cold in here!” Frustrated and even more angry, Erica turned and once again, loudly and deliberately stomped her way down the hall slamming her bedroom door. 

It was cold. He wasn’t cold. There’s a big difference. 

I simply said, “Craig, it’s a warm fire, thank you for that, but it is not warming the entire house. And even if it was, she’s cold–she feels cold–and that is a fact for her whether it is a fact for you or not!” He got the point and promptly apologized, made us all hot chocolate and continued to stoke the fire in hopes of generating more heat.

Perspective. It is beautiful to witness when one sees that things can and often are different for everyone. My half-sister—not seeing my pain from a father who left me behind—this lack of her understanding my view is her problem, not mine. I cannot make her see or feel what I feel. And she cannot see or feel what I do and that’s ok, I don’t need her to understand. 

On the other hand, Craig seeing and allowing that just because he was warm didn’t mean that was Erica’s experience. This is powerful. This is the kind of compassion and understanding of each other’s perspectives I want to strive for.

Right now we are experiencing a lot of upheaval in this world and from what I can sense, much of it is coming from the same dynamic. One group’s perspective differs from another’s and neither seem to be interested in the other’s view. This standoff is painful to witness and in some cases is down right dangerous—even lethal.

How can we see from each other’s perspective, and have the compassion and understanding that’s so needed to help us all find peace? Is peace ultimately what we all want? 

My job is not to convince you I’m right and you’re not. My job is to try to listen and respond, if needed, from my heart. My half-sister has her perspective, she grew up with a different story, a contrasting perspective. I have mine, I grew up with a completely different experience. There is no right or wrong, our perspectives are just different and if we want to continue any kind of relationship with each other, we’ve got to be willing to allow this. 

Allow each other to have our own perspectives. Even on a global level.

Give peas a chance? Maybe someday. 

Give peace a chance? Yes, let’s do this together. One person at a time, allowing for each other’s conflicting perspectives, allowing for peace between us.