When I was a young boy, parents and teachers always were giving orders some of which were demanded by society of that era. Parents and teachers both believed they were giving sound and correct instruction or at best directions on how to survive family and school life without receiving any physical pain as a result of not heeding their words; corporal punishment still being in vogue. Some youths were naïve enough to believe everything their parents or teachers would tell them. Of course those youths never got into trouble, but they did pick up some quite erroneous views of the world. Those of us who were skeptical about what the adults were saying learned the hard way the difference between an order and good advice; but we also learned early-on in life that not everything we were told was true.
I was definitely one of those who was smart enough to know some things I was told simply did not make any sense. Unfortunately, I was not smart enough to avoid pointing this out to the adults in control of my life so I received many physical corrections until I learned to keep my mouth shut… which I never did. What I did learn was to not say anything loud enough to be heard…sometimes.
Like many children of that era, I was constantly reminded whenever I would “screw-up” that I must always, “listen to your elders.” Naturally being a smart ass even at 4 or 5 years old, I just had to ask, “What’s an elder?” I was politely told that it was someone older than I was. I gave it a brief thought and then asked, “How much older?” They were not amused. I was finally told how much older after the spanking for mouthing-off to my father. I was not amused by the irony.
Also at a very young age I was taught, or so they thought, to eat everything on my dinner plate and become a member of the “clean plate club;” not to be confused with the Mickey Mouse Club, although they expected me to believe there really was a “clean plate club” and it would be nice to be a member. So I listened to them and obeyed. I enjoyed being a member of this club for a long time until that fateful day when I decided to voice my opinion (justifiably based on my gag reflex) that sometimes it just wasn’t possible to maintain membership each and every day based upon what exactly was placed on one’s plate.
That day was the first time big chunks of stewed tomatoes were presented for my taste buds to enjoy. I took one chunk and began to chew and swallow, when to my surprise and consternation, I nearly threw up as the mashed chunk made a valiant effort to slide down my throat which was trying very hard to close off and deny entry. I definitely did not want to make a mess so I desperately made the supreme effort and forced the offending blob to go down, but my throat didn’t like to be forced to obey one little bit. Therefore, in an extremely short time it notified my brain that it was through taking orders from me concerning swallowing stew tomato chunks; my brain duly noted the rebellion and notified me that it would be very prudent to refrain from eating any more of them. I readily agreed. This whole event took no more than 8 seconds from start to what I instantly planned to be the finish; closed book; a done deal. Boy was I in for a nasty surprise.
My super intelligent adults sitting at the same dinner table happened to notice the look on my face as I was facing this challenge and one of them leaping to an obvious conclusion said, “Is there something wrong?” Refusing to follow my first instinct of “keeping my mouth shut” to avoid punishment, I plowed ahead oblivious to the danger and told them that the stewed tomato chunks make me want to throw up. In their I-am-your-elder-voice I was told it couldn’t be true because I loved sliced tomatoes plain, with salt, or with sugar. Not only that, but I loved tomato catsup, tomato juice and tomato soup. All they said about liking tomatoes was true, but I could not understand why they did not believe me about gagging.
Consequently, in a display of their superior elder-wisdom and by virtue of their position of authority, I was told that I must clean my plate anyway. They then returned to eating their dinner and I sadly returned to eating mine. After they were done and I only had the offending large pile of stewed tomatoes left (well it was really only about four large chunks) I protested again and even resorted to some tears, but to no avail. Resigned to my fate I valiantly managed to eat two more pieces.
Little did I know that those two pieces strengthened my throat’s determination to stay closed and weakened my ability to force the issue. My brain just watched from the sidelines watching the battle between reflex and will power. Just eating those two pieces took me about seven or eight minutes and my elders expressed their opinions: first that they were right I could really swallow them, and second that I was just stalling, and third to hurry up as it was past my bed time. I put the second to the last piece in my mouth, chewed a bit and swallowed. At this point reflex overcame will power and my entire dinner returned to my plate.
The elders learned three things that night: their “wisdom” just might be flawed; they could still learn some things even if from a child (I was their first born so they really did have a lot to learn about kids); and that father does not always know best. From that night on I was never again forced to eat anything I didn’t want to eat. I learned that I could win a battle of wills, if I was in the right, which thinking still led me into trouble because I never learned which battles that I was on the right side of until I was old enough to leave home by joining the military.
Having won the “food fight” on a major technicality, I gave in to the next food issue which came up shortly thereafter. My family would frequently spend the evening with my dad’s sister’s family which included dinner. I had already had issues with the types of vegetables my aunt would serve; namely yellow squash and green beans. Now these two foods did not make me gag but to me the taste and texture was disgusting, which is probably a contributing factor in my elders refusal to believe me about my gagging over stewed tomatoes.
My parents and I had a few dinner table discussions about this during previous visits. After the above event, I was told that I didn’t have to eat all the green beans and squash, but I must eat at least one “bite” of squash and one green bean and to push the stuff around a little, occasionally, to make it appear that I’m interested in eating it. I did listen to them this time figuring winning one out of two was a pretty good split and I knew that the green bean and squash would not make me “sick”. I also liked the idea of fooling my aunt about liking what she fed me. So the elders and I both learned to compromise, but I didn’t realize it until I was much older.
12/5/2013
About the Author
I was born in June of 1948 in Los Angeles, living first in Lawndale and then in Redondo Beach. Just prior to turning 8 years old in 1956, I began living with my grandparents on their farm in Isanti County, Minnesota for two years during which time my parents divorced.
When united with my mother and stepfather two years later in 1958, I lived first at Emerald Bay and then at South Lake Tahoe, California, graduating from South Tahoe High School in 1966. After three tours of duty with the Air Force, I moved to Denver, Colorado where I lived with my wife and four children until her passing away from complications of breast cancer four days after the 9-11 terrorist attack.
I came out as a gay man in the summer of 2010. I find writing these memories to be therapeutic. My story blog is, TheTahoeBoy.Blogspot.com.
