Saturday, July 2, 2011


As a child, I was an extremely picky eater. There was almost a solid year where I ate nothing but bread and cereal. Corn and green beans were the only vegetables to ever cross my lips. The only way to get me to eat a potato was if it was french fried. When my mom would cook something for dinner I didn't like, I would just fix myself a bowl of cereal or buttered toast instead. She constantly told me my taste buds would change as I got older, but I never believed her. Until one day I found myself enjoying broccoli, pot roast, baked potatoes, and all the other foods I swore would never make their way to my gut.

I was afraid that my own childhood pickiness would be passed on to my children, but that doesn't seem to be the case. My boys will eat just about anything I put in front of them. Because of the freedom I enjoyed as a child, I have never required them to eat anything. If they don't like what I make, I'll fix them a sandwich. They never have to clean their plates, when they're full, they're full. One might assume this would lead to them being more picky, but quite the opposite has occurred. They almost never leave food on their plates, and almost always eat what I cook.

Still, I find it odd when I hear one of them exclaim "Yay, brussel sprouts!" when I set a plate down in front of them. Some of their favorite foods are things I couldn't even look at with out wanting to vomit as a child. Because of my own experiences, I can sympathize with parents of picky eaters, but I am secretly grateful not to be in their shoes.

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