Ham Fried Rice

Pardon the phrase from one of my fave sitcoms, How I Met Your Mother. But mention the name Charlton Heston and images literally of Biblical proportions come to mind. I remember as a child my Puo-Puo (maternal grandmother) would come visit us and every Easter we would gather around the television with her and watch Cecil B. DeMille’s The Ten Commandments. This family tradition continued for years. In fact, it just didn’t feel like Easter without a serving of Charlton Heston, oiled up in a loin cloth and shackled in chains (who knew the Bible could be so sexy?), followed by some super-poofy white flowing hair and a tapestry red robe as the Lord’s anointed. (Although I later learned that Puo-Puo actually had more of a thing for Yul Brynner. We also watched The King and I countless times as children.)

With Heston comes a sentimental remembrance of an era gone by, where as innocent children we roamed the streets on our bikes, played outside unsupervised, ate dinner as a family, watched family-friendly programming that lasted until 9 p.m.. I suppose he represents the warmth, love and security I felt as a child. I felt saddened to hear of his passing on Saturday night. When I told my mom yesterday, she cried out, “Oh no! He died?” I knew she shared the same sentiments as me.

Mention the name Charlton Heston and you probably think of Ben Hur, Bible movies, overacting, NRA, Conservative. But as for me, his name will forever conjure the image of my Grandma and my family surrounding the TV, watching Moses part the Red Sea.