When I was in the eighth grade, I was already quite ill a few weeks before Christmas. But then I went into convulsions one night and ended up in a coma for several days. The problem was acute viral encephalitis. The doctors didn’t know whether I would live, and they cautioned my parents that I might end up in a vegetative state even if I survived at all.
As I hope you can tell from my writing, I survived and am fairly normal. Okay, maybe how normal is questionable. But the important thing is I’m not a vegetable.
I have no idea whether the danger of becoming a vegetable somehow worked itself into my system to make me an ongoing hater of most vegetables. Especially the healthiest ones.
Of course, I’d actually started hating vegetables long before that. My mother believed in healthy cooking, and I was supposed to eat whatever was on my plate. All of it. No protests. No compromises.
So my hatred of veggies started at an early age. And the problem wasn’t just the taste. Often it was the texture, too. I’ll never forget stewed tomatoes and those little seeds floating around. Or lima beans–even just regular butter beans–and having to chew on something I couldn’t believe God had ever intended for human consumption. Ditto for yellow squash.
The memories of green leafy vegetables are best left somewhere in the garbage bin portion of my brain. The very smell of broccoli almost makes me sick; it’s impossible to put enough Cheese Whiz or cheese sauce on it to keep the stink from telling my tongue, “This stuff is horrible.”
My mother often served asparagus. (Do they still have the kind that comes in an upside-down glass jar?) She never heated it, though. If the jar had just been opened, it was served at room temperature. If it had been in the fridge, it was served, uh, cold. Not a very appealing thought, huh?
Strangely enough, though, I found the tips to be tolerable. Probably because they were tender. But too often the rest was tough enough not to be very kid-friendly. Just to be fair, I very recently put one small asparagus spear on my plate while eating at someone else’s house. It had been cooked, and was still warm.
Oh, my! But it was still repulsive. Even more so than during childhood.
My wife likes to fix a dish called Italian Pasta Skillet. It has some spinach in it. Unable to convince her to leave that ingredient out, I used to fish the spinach out and dump it in her bowl. Although I’m still not wild about spinach–please don’t try feeding it to me without the other pasta skillet ingredients to help cover up the taste–I don’t cringe now when I eat it.
Yes, I do like a few vegetable. Who could dislike corn on the cob? Or even corn that’s been uncobbed–or is that decobbed? Or potatoes, baked, mashed, or preferably fried? Oven fries are great!
Oh, and I eat a number of raw baby carrots almost daily. I can’t say I “love” them, but they’re far less offensive than most veggies. And canned french green beans are okay if I pour enough barbecue sauce on them. I just can’t understand why my wife laughs at me when I do that.
Okay, folks. Here’s the bottom line. I agree that kids need to eat healthy while they’re growing up. They can become degenerates like me once they’re adults and take a chance of the effects on their longevity.
But, for Pete’s sake (and theirs, too), if they turn up their noses at one kind of vegetable more than at others and they do it consistently, why not take the hint and look for an acceptable substitute?
Not a problem with my daughter, thank goodness. She loved–and still loves–veggies. Probably all of them.
Your comments are welcome.
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Links you might be interested in:
- Roger’s other blog, As I Come Singing
- Roger’s website, RogerBruner.com
- Roger’s free Christian lead sheets
- Roger’s books on Amazon