Clean your plate. There are children starving in China.
I grew up as the only child at home but was surrounded by other children from early morning until dinner time, thanks to my mother’s babysitting business. At any given lunch, it was not unusual to have at least four other children huddled around our small kitchen table. Rhonda was the youngest child in the circle of children my mom cared for and the pickiest eater. She loved spaghetti, but only if covered in butter with parmesan cheese, and grilled cheese sandwiches if slightly burnt with the crust removed. Nothing else was allowed on the food or on the plate. Rhonda was a purist. She also was stubborn.
In the kitchen, my mother, with all of the charm of a pit bull, would lovingly prepare lunch for the rag-tag pack of kids seated at the kitchen table. The cuisine often included something other than Rhonda’s favored fare. Perhaps, there would be sauce, a stray pickle, or something entirely foreign to Rhonda’s palate.
Rhonda’s response was always immediate. Like clockwork, her body tightened as the familiar scowl formed on her face. Then came those six words one should never say to my mother. “I am not gonna eat that.”
“You will eat what is on your plate,” mom replied. Her tone was as cold as her demeanor.
“Will not.”
“Will too.”
No matter how many times Rhonda challenged my mother, the interaction between the two of them was always a sight to behold. The rest of us sat dumbfounded, wondering if Rhonda would survive again. Indeed, Rhonda’s language was enough to send my mother’s right first finger into convulsive fits. We waited for my mother’s sweeping hand to cross the table and land finger pointed barely an inch from Rhonda’s nose. “There are children starving in China,” mom said as she wagged her twitching digit. “You, young lady, will eat everything on your plate.”
“And if I don’t?” Rhonda countered.
“You will sit there until you do.”
The rest of us released a collective gasp. Mom meant what she said. After all, she was as stubborn as Rhonda. Any challenge to my mother was a sure path to a lonely and isolated rest of the day. While the rest of us enjoyed an afternoon in the pool, Rhonda remained at the table until her parents arrived to pick her up at 5 p.m.
Of course, Rhonda would now be in her sixties. I wonder if she still favors buttered spaghetti and grilled cheese sandwiches.
In the quest for health, one would do well to consider the past. Food habits form early, and some of them may remain with us into adulthood. Some foods are more about memories than nourishment, and if you decide to sideline some of those favored foods…well, be prepared for resistance. It takes time and practice to form new habits. Instead of focusing on isolated instances, focus on the bigger picture.
Take a hint from my mother and my childhood friend. Be stubborn. You only lose when you give up.