Bananas and me

 For most of my life, I’ve believed I’m a reasonably competent human being.

Not perfect, of course. Nobody is. But competent enough: fairly good teacher, decent husband, reliable father, proud grandfather. I drive without causing panic, I speak in full sentences, I write things that usually make sense. Life has felt under control.

And then the banana issue arrived.

Now, I don’t treat bananas lightly. They are a daily ritual. One for breakfast like a responsible adult avoiding chocolate-based moral failure. One after dinner when I’m pretending I’m not thinking about dessert.

We’ve had a long, loyal relationship—bananas and I.

Which is why this revelation feels personal.

According to extremely reliable sources (which I prefer not to name, for emotional reasons), I have been peeling bananas incorrectly my entire life.

That sentence deserves respect.

Apparently, I’ve been doing it the “wrong” way. The stem end. The obvious end. The end that feels like it was designed for humans with logic and dignity.

Wrong.

The “correct” method, I am told, is to peel from the other side. The soft end. The mysterious end. The end that feels like it should come with a disclaimer and possibly counselling.

I tried it today.

It did not feel like enlightenment. It felt like betrayal disguised as fruit handling. The banana resisted. I resisted. There was a brief moment where I questioned my qualifications for basic kitchen independence.

And that’s where the crisis began.

Because once you discover you’ve been peeling a banana incorrectly, everything comes under suspicion.

What else have I been doing wrong with confidence? Pasta timings? Remote controls? The correct way to fold a fitted sheet—which I am convinced is a shared global lie?

This is no longer about fruit. This is philosophy.

People say, “Just change the way you do it.”

As if identity is a software update.

But it’s not that simple. The stem has history. The stem has dignity. The stem has served faithfully for decades without complaint.

So now I stand at a crossroads.

Do I evolve into a modern banana thinker, enlightened and soft-end compliant?

Or do I continue as I am—slightly outdated, possibly wrong, but emotionally stable in my banana tradition?

Either way, something has shifted.

Because now, every banana feels less like breakfast…

and more like a judgment.