I’m a child of the 70’s. I was raised by young, restless, self centred, largely immature and only slightly retarded parents.

But I HAD to eat what was tossed at me through the grate offered to me at suppertime. We had some good stuff: spaghetti, mashed potatoes, meatloaf, fried chicken even an occasional lobster (thanks, Granny). But we also had: liver and onions, blood sausage and cabbage rolls.

Despite parents being young, restless, self centred, largely immature and only slightly retarded they were no pushovers. When supper was served, there were no alternates. No choices. No catering to the dietary whims of a six year old. Hell, no. And I had to eat it… I had to at least try it. Eat… however many bites. Before being let from the table.

On liver and onion night, I often slept at the table. Not all night, of course. Parents were young, restless, self centred, largely immature and only slightly retarded, but not heartless.

Fast forward, the new millenium… to me, nearly forty, stable, selfless (OK, not so much), so very mature (mmmm….) and maybe more than only slightly retarded, mother of three, having long ago vowed never to ever force organ meat upon my own children. I have never had a child fall asleep at the table over uneaten shitty food. I am thinking this may, in fact, be a mistake. It appears that my children expect every meal to be perfectly adapted to their very singular palates- a party for each and every individual little taste bud. Or they refuse to eat. Because here I am, fighting over food.

I am not, nor have I ever been the short order cook type of mother. And until recently, issues regarding mealtimes have been fortunately few and far between.

However, lately… typically at least one night a week and most certainly this night, I listen to middle child, dear Zip, whine about what’s being served for dinner. He raises a total stink. Tonight, case in point. The dreaded stir-fry. Vegetables, shrimp, noodles… does this sound like friggin’ liver and onions?!?

I say, exasperated, clearly not in the mood for his BS, “Fine. This is dinner. You don’t eat this. You don’t eat.” Hah. Tough tittie, little man. Try them apples! You don’t know who yer dealing with, dearest middle child.

“Awwwww-uuunnnnnngh!” Him. Clearly not concerned about my mood. And making no move to serve up what was apparently a totally wretched meal of firm, ripe fresh veggies- cooked to crunchy perfection- plump, juicy shrimp and crispy Chinese noodles- torture!

Moments later I have to run to neighbors for a five minute errand. I kid you not. Five minutes. No more.

I come home to find him in front of toob with an open can of peaches. Little shit.

I am such not a hard ass… Maybe there’s a thing or two to learn from what were once young, restless, self centred, largely immature and only slightly retarded parents. And maybe there’s also something to be said for an occasional meal of liver and onions. Kids today apparently have no accurate frame of reference….

Edited to add: I now completely adore cabbage rolls. In fact, catch me mid-January and chances are pretty good, my teeth are laden with cabbage bits and I’m covered in sour cream stains. They are the absolute comfiest of my comfort foods.

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