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Saturday, November 10, 2012

1965


My issues with food started when I was two.
I don’t claim to remember it, I can’t remember much of anything even now.  But I’ve heard the story.
I was two.  We were having chicken for dinner.  Apparently I didn’t want chicken, so I wouldn’t eat.  Mom called my gramma, her mother-in-law.  She said, T won’t eat dinner, how do I make her eat?  Gramma said, you keep putting that dinner in front of her until she eats it.
My family didn’t know me so well at that point.
Mom put the chicken in front of me the next morning for breakfast.
Mom put the chicken in front of me the next midday for lunch.
Mom put the chicken in front of me the next night for supper.
Mom put the chicken in front of me the morning after that for breakfast.
That morning I said to my mom, in my weak, two year old I haven’t eaten in a day and a half voice, “mommy, I’m kind of tired, can I take a nap?” she served me a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.  And the food battle was won.
From then on I had peanut butter (natural) and jelly, scrambled eggs, pasta without sauce, peanut butter and honey, peanut butter and bacon, hamburgers (plain), apple sauce.
There may be a few other things, but that’s what I remember.  I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t even try other stuff until I went to college.  Since then I’ll pretty much try anything once - I’ve even had gefilte fish (once was more than enough with that one).  If I could live on guacamole, I totally would.  That and my dad’s sketty’s, dad makes amazing sauce.  But there are loads of other things that I would never have thought I would eat, I can even cook some of it.
But that all came when I got older.  I was stubborn enough to “win” that battle and my food patterns were set.  I wasn’t compelled to eat anything after that.  Though my grampa always tried to get me to eat peas, “just three peas, T, just three.”  He tried to get me to eat those three damn peas until he died - he was 94, I was 34.  I still hate peas, it’s a texture thing.
I wish I wasn’t such a stubborn two year old.  I have a hunch that if I’d eaten that chicken my life would be different.  Not necessarily better, but different.

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