It is about to drive Yours Truly crazy. Okay, some will say that trip is extremely short. Others say I arrived at Crazy Land a long time ago. But I know me better than anyone, and last night I reached my breaking point.
So what’s gotten me so befuddled I’m about to trade in all my Big Papa shirts and declare a 2-year-old and a 3-year-old victorious in the Great Food Wars? The pickiness of the picky eater is simply beyond my understanding.
During my 27 years driving a fire truck, my responsibility upon reaching the fire scene was well planned out. I had to pull hose line off the truck then calculate pump pressure. Not enough pressure and the fire would not be extinguished, too much and fire fighters would be placed in great danger as they were knocked off the end of the hose lines. Size of hose and length, elevation or de-elevation, type of nozzle, and any appliance water flowed through were just a few of the many items that I had to take into consideration in order to calculate the correct pump discharge pressure.
The lives of both the fire fighters and those trapped in the fire hung in the balance. The stress and responsibility to get it right was enormous, but that doesn’t come close to the stress of planning out dinner and getting the menu wrong for Little One and Sweet Caroline, our two granddaughters.
Growing up at 110 Flamingo Street, dinner was simple. Mom cooked it and we ate it – especially the vegetables. Our vegetables came out of Dad’s garden and his belief was, “I grew it, your mom cooked it, then you’ll eat it.”
If we didn’t, there wasn’t any discussion about what else we would like to eat. There wasn’t any cooking a second, or even third, dinner to satisfy all of our individual tastes. The consequences of us not eating our dinner our parents made well known. No food until breakfast. If we didn’t eat breakfast, then no food until lunch. Didn’t eat lunch? No food ‘til dinner. Looking back it was a harsh system by anyone’s measure. But it was a system that worked.
When I was at the fire department, to say cooking was challenging would be an understatement. Depending at which firehouse I was stationed, there could be two or 10 other hungry fire fighters sitting around the table waiting for food. If you think little kids can really whine about food, you’ve never visited a fire department roundabout dinnertime.
Some wanted to eat early, others late, some liked only chicken or pork, others disliked all noodles, and one never ate anything green. Said his dad made him eat vegetables as a kid even though he hated them. (His dad also grew vegetables in the backyard garden.) He swore when he grew up he’d never eat them again. As of this printing, he’s 50 and has kept his promise. Still, while stationed with him for over a year, I was able to cook and hide vegetables in every one of his dinners. He still doesn’t know. My vegetable hiding skill was unmatched, but it falls woefully short when it comes to pleasing the two little picky eaters around our dinner table.
For months our granddaughters loved broccoli, then for months they didn’t. They would eat everything else on their plate but. Lately they wouldn’t eat anything green. This has gone on for months until last week when we took a trip to the zoo. The girls took turns feeding the giraffes leafy branches.
I asked the zoo attendant if giraffes would eat broccoli. She looked at out two girls, smiled and replied, “I’m sure they simply love broccoli.” Our girls love broccoli once again. Unfortunately they only want to eat it while they are in the bathtub. Don’t ask. I don’t know why; I’m just happy they’re eating vegetables again.
It’s not a question of “if” but “when” they get picky about eating again, but Big Papa here will be ready. When fires or emergency calls preempted dinner at the fire department, I always fixed banana splits when we finally returned to the station.
Just think of it. A banana split is perfect for dinner. It has lots of fruit: bananas, cherries, pineapples, and strawberries. It has walnuts – a good source of protein. And three scoops of ice cream is a serving of milk. And, of course, top it all off with lots of chocolate syrup. I know chocolate syrup isn’t really a food group; it’s just good.
So for all those moms out their thinking my dinner choice for our little picky eaters leaves out vegetables, have no worries. I’ll simply top the dinner banana split with sprigs of broccoli.
[Rick Ryckeley has been writing stories since 2001. To read more of Rick’s stories, visit his blog: storiesbyrick.wordpress.com.]
