One Picky Child

     Page One Hundred-Sixteen.
     Many of my blogs are about my experiences feeding kids. Here's one about feeding me when I was little.
     First of all, I was impossible to feed. After all my adult work experience, I would still describe myself as the pickiest kid I've ever encountered. To my advantage though, I was a polite child. If I was a guest in someone's home and they served me something disreputable, I would eat it anyhow and not say a word. My parents, somehow, managed to instill manners in me. (This trait came in handy many decades later while visiting my former roommate in Germany and having his mother serve me tenderloin of bunny; a food which was gourmet to them but that this Jewish, middle-class, urban, Ohioan was not prepared for. It wasn't bad, really. It's not the type of thing I crave today, but if it were served to me again, I'd eat it without any trepidation at all. Then again, I like escargot - separate story.) But anyhow, if it was my mother feeding me, forget it. I didn't like much of what she served.
     Now, I'll readily admit that my mother wasn't a good cook... categorically. In fact, she stunk at it. I truly believe that's one reason I began cooking at age four when I would stand on the chair which I'd dragged to the stove, turn on the gas and make my own scrambled eggs, hamburgers, Chef Boyardee, etc. This is the truth. Imagine a four year old cooking like this. That was me. So perhaps my pickiness was a combination of two things: I truly do have weird taste buds and my mom couldn't make a decent meal. (By the way, today, I'm not at all disappointed over my mother's inability to cook when I was little. Nowadays, I know that everybody has strengths and weaknesses. Cooking was simply one of her weaknesses, nothing more, nothing less.) But the point is: both of these things were going on, so I was a child who didn't eat much.
     If the butter or jelly wasn't spread all the way to the edges of the toast: problem. If the scrambled eggs were at all wet: problem. If the greens in the salad were anything other than iceberg: problem. If the cheese in the toasted cheese sandwich wasn't melted all the way: problem. If the noodle soup was anything other than Lipton's: problem. If we went out to get Chinese and they didn't also serve hamburgers and fries: problem. If the hot dog was anything other than Hebrew National: problem. If it was seafood, other than tuna or Mrs. Paul's fish sticks: BIG problem. You know what? I was a little asshole with a big obsessive-compulsive disorder. I probably wouldn't have been satisfied even if Martha Stewart were my personal chef.
     With me it went way past corn and meatloaf not being allowed to touch on the plate. But I was a child, so there you go. Children eat for taste and texture. They don't eat for nutrition, or experience. An eight year old boy isn't going to say, "golly gosh mater, shan't we hurry with great vigor to experience some vegemite? It might be quite educational to eat the way those exotic citizens from down under do." With me it was fear of the unknown. I was extremely suspect the first time I was ever served pepperoni pizza. I still remember the day (separate story). Also, I ate (or not) to exhibit my control issues. Nothing new or unusual under the sun there either. I still remember the day my mother was determined to get me to try some crab (separate story). My mother couldn't win. But clearly I ate something when I was a kid or I wouldn't be here right now.
     Do you remember the fifteen year old kid I cooked for last month? In my initial conversations with his guardian she told me how worried she was that he wasn't eating at all . I responded, "oh, yes he is eating. You just don't know about it. Fifteen year old boys, unless they're Anorexic, don't ever neglect to eat. They DO NOT go on hunger strikes. EVER!!! Trust me on this one." And, in fact, he was eating. As I must've been during my earliest years. I wasn't eating a healthy diet, Lord knows. But I was, in fact, eating. And, I grew into an adult who would gradually become a more  adventurous eater. I'm still suspect about new foods, and I still prefer the tried and true. But look, I ate bunny tenderloin and didn't make any type of a scene. And I like escargot. So there!