Fruit Jam as Metaphor for a Sweet, Troubled Life

One night last week, Ray and I canned 17 jars of Jalapeach Jam. That’s peach and jalapeno combined. It’s the perfect dichotomy of pleasure & pain, with its pairings of diced freestone peaches & minced jalapenos, sugar & vinegar, butter & lemon juice. The jam is both irresistible and torture. Will yourself through that first instant of tongue-searing pepperiness, and you’re almost instantly rewarded with the sweetest, lingering peachiness, until you’re no longer meek, trembling, afraid.

This is not unlike raising children. The laborious (sorry) childbirth to foggy, forgetful joy metaphor is clear. But it’s also like surviving child/teenhood. You’ve heard the comparisons between teens and The Exorcist, and trust me, they’re not far off. I am perpetually baffled by parents who manage to slide blissfully through with obedient, soft-spoken children and without numerous surprise phone calls from (a) the angry/offended parents of another child/teen; (b) the principal, on duty at the junior-senior prom; (c) the chaperone of a school trip; or, my favorite, (d) the police.

The reprimands, accidentally drowned hamsters, groundings, bailouts, middle-of-the-night trackdowns, public humiliation, court dates, late-night weeping, worry, screaming matches—they’re the jalapenos. And as we all know, humans can’t live for long on jalapenos alone. The compassionate, intelligent, hilarious (all in a fairly warped way), independently-minded human beings my kids are becoming as adults—that’s the peaches. But even peaches, splendid as they are, can lead to diabetic coma if that’s all you get. You need both.

Jalapeach Jam also makes a good metaphor for other kinds of relationships. It works for conversation, friendships, dating, living together, sex: if the jars don’t seal, you’d better take what you can, fast. And although sweetness is so good, every now & then, you just need to go up in flames.

So I’ll take my peaches with a little jalapeno, thank you, on a bagel spread with cream cheese—I’ve learned to appreciate that pleasantly painful balance.