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Poppin’ Peppers
By Scott Harrup | May 2, 2008
My family lived in Sierra Leone, West Africa, in the early ’70s serving as missionaries with the Assemblies of God. A popular rice dish of that area relied heavily on a small, red pepper for its kick. Traditionally seasoned “rice chop” was hot enough to break a sweat on your brow within a few bites.
A bush behind the large garage on our mission compound grew that little seasoning firecracker. It wasn’t a very impressive bush. But the tiny reddish-orange peppers among the smattering of little green leaves attracted my younger brothers’ attention. Blake and Obie, about 5 and 3 at the time, began picking and popping peppers.
Shaped like a micro-carrot, a pepper would squirt its juice out the pointed end when squeezed at the base.
Pick… pinch… pop… Obie had his system down. Blake joined in. They continued the game for a while.
Then Obie got hot. This was West Africa, after all. He wiped his brow, rubbed the sweat from his eyes, and began to scream.
Blake, the protective elder brother, ushered Obie to the house. Dad came to the door wondering which appendage had been broken or severed to elicit such howls.
Blake was quick to explain.
“Obie was picking peppers and he rubbed his eyes like this…” As soon as Blake demonstrated Obie’s fatal error, he was raising the rafters too.
Mom, a nurse, tried every home remedy at her disposal. But there was little that could be done until the tears washed the last residue of pepper juice from their eyes. The guys hollered so loudly our missionary neighbor, “Aunt” Gwen, walked the 100 yards or so between our homes to find out what was going on.
“At first I thought the boys were getting a spanking and I shouldn’t interfere,” she admitted. “Then I thought I’d better interfere.”
She was relieved to discover no serial child abuse.
I’ve had 36 years or so to ponder this little saga, contemplating what, if any, lessons I should learn. Some possibilities present themselves.
1: I escaped a similar fate by sheer luck. I wasn’t smarter than my siblings. I’d popped a few random peppers on my own without rubbing the juice in my eyes. Watching Blake and Obie wail, I prudently determined my pepper-popping days were over.
2: With 5-year-old logic, Blake thought he could mimic Obie’s actions without incurring the same consequences. Some of my decisions in life, at much later stages, have held me victim to that childish belief.
3: A lot of mistakes in life can be avoided if you just remember where things belong. Peppers can be tolerated a lot better in your stomach than in your eyes. A lot of marriages would be saved if spouses kept their affections reserved for each other. A lot of friendships would be preserved if confidences remained between those friends.
Dad still makes “rice chop” for our family. The grandkids love it. He leaves out the peppers.
Topics: Family Life |