Читать книгу Do As I Say, Not As I Did - Michael N Marcus - Страница 44

Mom had a perverse ritual to demonstrate that she was the supreme ruler of the land and I was a mere serf with minimal rights, but with better living conditions than provided at Auschwitz. Once each year she’d force me to eat food that I hated: disgusting LeSeur peas and shepherd’s pie. I doubt that Dr. Spock would approve, but I couldn’t convince Mom to ask him.

If I rebelled about finishing a meal that I hated, or even if I was genuinely full of food, my mother would say, “You’ll eat it and you’ll like it and there are thousands of children starving in Europe!” Under the same rebellious conditions my usually compassionate and coddling grandmother would coldly remind me of the “starving Armenians.”

Even as a very young child I detected a large gap in the dining table logic of these two women.

Somehow I never quite understood how my eating every last disgusting lima bean or LeSeur green pea that was glaring at me from my plate would help fill the gaunt bellies of unfortunate refugees in Novi Pazar, Vagharshapat, Hrazdan or Yeghegnadzor.

I often hid the despised green things under a plate or a napkin or under the table, or even stuffed them in my pocket or handkerchief for later secret disposal.

Lesson: Don’t force your kids to eat what they hate.