How do you make quality oatmeal?

As a kid, between 2% and 90% of my thoughts were consumed with thinking of products that are commonly called by their brand name and not their actual name (such as Chapstick is really lip balm, Vaseline is really petroleum jelly, Kleenex is really tissue, Band-Aid is really adhesive bandage, Listerine is really mouth wash, to name a few...after 21 years of thinking I have quite an extensive list). A portion of the other 10% to 98% of my thoughts were observing subtle differences between my parents. For example, my mom tied shoes by looping one lace around the other while my dad tied shoes by making a knot with two bunny ears. My mom cut the core out of apples by making two nicks on the sides and then scooping out the middle while my dad just made two sharp slices in a V shape. My mom made oatmeal that was thick, chunky and lumpy so that the consistency was similar to vomit while my dad made oatmeal that was watery and severely undercooked.

Needless to say, neither of these styles of oatmeal were very appealing to me, so I quickly learned to make my own oatmeal just the way I like it. As you probably could have guessed based on the precedent I have set with my previous posts, the question I am actually going to address has nothing to do with the quality of oatmeal. What I would actually like to question is why I noticed differences and not similarities. I never noticed that both of my parents cut apples with their right hands, they both didn't put spoons in the microwave when they were cooking the oatmeal, and they both have noses.

This shows that we often take similarities for granted. For example, I bet you noticed that unlike other colleges, Geneseo is situated on a steep hill, but took for granted that all college students write papers. I bet you noticed that the kid behind you in Philosophy 100 has hair in a ponytail down to his butt, but you may not have noticed that the color bears a striking resemblance to your own shade. I bet you noticed the last time your roommate's actions were different from your wishes (they didn't do the dishes), but took for granted all of the times their actions were similar to what you wanted (they took out the trash).

Instead of being annoyed that we go to a school on a hill, we could unite with college students across the world about writing twenty page papers about obscure topics. Instead of thinking that long-haired kid is weird, we could get some advice on the best shampooing strategies for chestnut-brown-haired individuals. Instead of getting mad that our roommates neglect the dishes, we could be grateful that they take out the trash. Instead of being picky about oatmeal consistency, we would learn not to put metal spoons in the microwave. So, maybe if we stopped noticing all these differences, and started noticing similarities, the world would be a happier place (or at least have less fires in the microwaves).