My sister and I could tell stories—
Stories my mother would never want shared.
Even on her deathbed, my mom was distraught that Kelly and I would have to clean out her refrigerator and freezer.
Let’s just say that our refrigerator growing up resembled many in the 1970s.
Tupperware was famous at the time for “locking in freshness,” and the colors of brown, orange, green, and mustard yellow were all the rage.
We didn’t own many Tupperware containers,
But instead, on the shelves of our Kenmore were multiple re-used and re-washed butter and Cool Whip containers.
Very few containers in our refrigerator while we grew up contained what the label said.
As a result, it was always a bit of “Where’s Waldo” as we searched for food in the refrigerator,
Going from container to container to see what was inside.
I lived in a very fiscally frugal household.
We saved small amounts of leftovers and would save them for a once-a-week smorgasbord, or as we called it, a borg-a-smord.
Twenty or more small butter and Cool Whip containers would cover the kitchen counter.
Three spoons of corn, two slices of meatloaf, a small portion of spaghetti, and some jello would make a meal.
(The worst part of this was the cleaning of each of these small plastic containers afterwards).
However, the stories that still bring Kelly and me to giggles today—
the same stories my mother would not want shared because she would fear it would reflect poorly on her household cleaning–
Involve the inevitable Bermuda Triangle container (or containers).
The brown-lidded container would somehow get lost among the dozens and be re-discovered much later.
We poor, innocent children were not prepared for the discovery.
We were anticipating treasure only to discover a scientist’s glorious petri dish within the plastic.
Green, blue furry globs were accompanied by an odor that would make us shriek and scream.
The original food was unrecognizable. A new life form had taken its place.
Sadly, since we lived in the country and had no trash service, we composted everything,
So, also sadly and to our disgust and revulsion, we were then tasked with scraping out the globs into a Tupperware tub that would be emptied in the compost pile later that night.
Then, the brown-lidded Bermuda Triangle container would be washed and used again.
Emptying the Bermuda Triangle “treasure” into the rotting compost pile outside
Is still the stuff of nightmares.
I almost gag right now thinking about it.
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
My childhood was influenced by Tupperware.
The secrets, the truths—both pleasant and noxious—were sealed within the plastic walls.
The 1940s and 1950s, when my parents grew up, were the decades in which Tupperware was created and then patented by Earl Tupper.
Tupperware parties finally allowed women of the time an opportunity to work—in fact, the slogan was “Tupperware is—-where work and pleasure come together.”
Somehow in this time of change for both men and women, mental health was not really discussed.
Veterans returned from war with “shell shock” or “soldier’s heart” but were not treated.
Abuse was non-existent.
Women’s postpartum depression was ignored or blamed on the weakness of the woman.
Depression?
Anxiety?
The solution at the time—
Just shut them up in a plastic container, and seal the lid.
These problems simply disappear.
Or they mold.
Or they grow anew, all sealed away in the plastic darkness.
My grandfather had a “nervous breakdown.”
He cried in the living room, unable to go anywhere, but this was never explained to me as a young child.
I never heard my parents argue
Or really verbally disagree.
There were no conflicts.
Obviously, that was not true, but it was all “sealed in.”
I knew no one who was divorced while growing up.
I knew no one who was financially bankrupt or struggling with abuse at home.
I knew no one who was gay or dealing with bipolar disorder.
And yet, of course I did.
I know I did.
Unhappy marriages were all around me, with pasted-on smiles and the “burping seal” of approval of the others whose lives were also hidden inside the figurative Tupperware.
We wrapped up our abuse, struggles with sexual identity, mental health issues
And we sealed them up and hid them in the back corner of our Kenmores.
From the outside, no one could see what was inside.
The labels said “healthy” and “happy” and “functional” and “Christian” and “financially secure” and “mentally thriving.”
Inside,
Inside was another story.
Inside was a soul rotting,
A soul living with self-doubt,
A soul wondering if he or she was the only one,
A soul wondering why the cliches and the scripture verses didn’t cut it,
A soul who looked at all the other Tupperware lives and couldn’t open up and be real.
* * * * * * * * * *
When my life fell apart in 2004 . . .
When the lid to my Tupperware fell off,
People didn’t like the truth of what was inside.
I didn’t either.
I had hidden it and pretended it didn’t exist.
I had put it to the back of the Kenmore and that famous seal hid the truth.
Those around me begged me to put the lid back on and pretend it was all perfectly fine.
After all, it is easier to “seal in the freshness” and pretend the green globs are not inside.
It is easier to pretend that none of us have Bermuda Triangle containers that are rotting within.
It is easier to look at the labels on the outside than to go beside the compost pit in the backyard
And scrape and scrape and empty and throw it all away.
I avoided the scraping.
I avoided the compost pit.
But the reality became public,
And my life as a good woman who is able to pray the bad away,
My life as a good enough wife to hold her family together,
Got thrown in the pit,
And believe me, there was a wide berth taken by others whose Kenmores looked nice and neat.
The lid on my Tupperware was off, and it has never really gone back on.
That situation taught me the freedom of taking off the lid and just being who I am.
Years later, in a very honest conversation,
Mom confessed that I had taught her a lot about being vulnerable
Because she was never shown how to do that.
I am open with my students and my colleagues and those I befriend
About my depression,
About my anxiety,
About my husband’s death,
About my sons, and
About how my life has become something different than the color-coordinated Tupperware containers
Lined up on the shelves of my Kenmore.
* * * * * * * * * *
I am glad for Earl Tupper’s invention.
However, I have thrown out the Tupperware.
I now have glass storage containers.
What you see is what you get.
No more trips to the compost piles.
No more surprises of hidden “treasures.”
My goal is to know exactly what is in my Kenmore—
