My mother never forced me to eat anything, but she did try to get me to ease up on my picky eating habits.
"Just try a cucumber!"
"No, thank you."
"You like pickles! It's a pickle!"
"Then why isn't it called a pickle? My name is Kevin. You don' t call me Steve."
She couldn't argue with that one.
Aside from that, my mother didn't enjoy cooking very much. The fact that my favorite food was spaghetti with nothing on it made her life easier, so why was she going to complain?
It was my father who was determined to cure me of my dislike for...just about everything.
Unfortunately for him, he underestimated my stubbornness.
Once, he tried to make me eat a tomato slice. He told me I couldn't get up from the kitchen table until I had eaten it.
I sat there for twelve hours.
I kid you not, twelve hours.
I probably would have eaten a slice of plastic first. That's how much I knew I wouldn't like that tomato.
After half a day had passed, and it was nearing midnight, my father finally caved.
"I don't understand you. It's just a tomato."
"So why are you insisting I eat it?"
"Because people are going hungry."
"So give them the tomato," I said, without a hint of sarcasm. It seemed perfectly logical to me.
"When you're a grown-up, you'll learn that you have to eat things you don't want to eat."
My father was wrong. In my opinion, one of the best things about being a grown-up is that I don't have to eat anything I don't want to eat.
That being said, my eating habits have gotten better. I will now eat a cucumber (If I have to--to be polite--although luckily the situation only presented itself once at a dinner party where cucumber salad was served and I didn't want to be rude).
I will eat peas, spinach, and I actually enjoy carrots now, and I no longer eat plain spaghetti.
All the foods I was never forced to eat, I eventually tried on my own, and grew to like. Part of me believes that I enjoy them because I was allowed to experience them in my own time--sort of like riding a bike or going on amusement park rides that make you puke.
Discovery is half the fun.
To this day, however, I do not eat tomatoes. I have never eaten one and I never will, and I doubt I'm missing out on much.
Still, I'm twenty-six, and every time I go over my father's house he puts one next to my plate as a joke.
I just look at him and say--"It's going to be a long night, isn't it, Dad?"
"Just try a cucumber!"
"No, thank you."
"You like pickles! It's a pickle!"
"Then why isn't it called a pickle? My name is Kevin. You don' t call me Steve."
She couldn't argue with that one.
Aside from that, my mother didn't enjoy cooking very much. The fact that my favorite food was spaghetti with nothing on it made her life easier, so why was she going to complain?
It was my father who was determined to cure me of my dislike for...just about everything.
Unfortunately for him, he underestimated my stubbornness.
Once, he tried to make me eat a tomato slice. He told me I couldn't get up from the kitchen table until I had eaten it.
I sat there for twelve hours.
I kid you not, twelve hours.
I probably would have eaten a slice of plastic first. That's how much I knew I wouldn't like that tomato.
After half a day had passed, and it was nearing midnight, my father finally caved.
"I don't understand you. It's just a tomato."
"So why are you insisting I eat it?"
"Because people are going hungry."
"So give them the tomato," I said, without a hint of sarcasm. It seemed perfectly logical to me.
"When you're a grown-up, you'll learn that you have to eat things you don't want to eat."
My father was wrong. In my opinion, one of the best things about being a grown-up is that I don't have to eat anything I don't want to eat.
That being said, my eating habits have gotten better. I will now eat a cucumber (If I have to--to be polite--although luckily the situation only presented itself once at a dinner party where cucumber salad was served and I didn't want to be rude).
I will eat peas, spinach, and I actually enjoy carrots now, and I no longer eat plain spaghetti.
All the foods I was never forced to eat, I eventually tried on my own, and grew to like. Part of me believes that I enjoy them because I was allowed to experience them in my own time--sort of like riding a bike or going on amusement park rides that make you puke.
Discovery is half the fun.
To this day, however, I do not eat tomatoes. I have never eaten one and I never will, and I doubt I'm missing out on much.
Still, I'm twenty-six, and every time I go over my father's house he puts one next to my plate as a joke.
I just look at him and say--"It's going to be a long night, isn't it, Dad?"
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