I Happen to Like Rice

So I just found out that my son does not like rice. He's been in my home for 19 years and I just find out. Makes you wonder what other minor things around you have slipped your notice. Or other people's notice.

I happen to like rice. White rice. Sticky white rice. The kind where if you had chop sticks you could pick up a whole glob if you grasp the hunk tenderly and chuck it in quickly. It's a simple flavor, best eaten warm and steaming. It falls apart into grains in your mouth, and the gumminess is satisfyingly chewy. I could eat rice all day. I could also eat popcorn all day. Same thing only more chewy, and the butter and salt is addictive. I could eat popcorn until my lips shrivel up from the salt. I could eat strawberries a lot, too, but not the big meaty Californian ones that have little flavor or juice. Homegrown and handpicked are best. You want them firm but not mushy, and those little yellow specks of seeds are lovely to crunch. Raspberry seeds are nice to crunch, too, but too often they end up stuck in your teeth. They are about as hard to get out as some popcorn kernels--but I still love them. Of all these things I like, people who think they really know me would probably only know about the popcorn.

There are so many small details about ourselves, we can surprise someone who knows us well with any number of preferences, dislikes or opinions at any moment. We could even surprise the heck out of ourselves, by suddenly realizing that we've said out loud something about ourselves that we intuitively but non-verbally have known forever. And until my son spoke up and said he hated rice, I had never really realized how much I happen to like rice.