I'm watching Morgan Spurlock's Super Size Me. He's just had his ninth McDonald's meal in a row.
For desert he threw up.
The cameraman asks, "Are you all right?"
I am so glad my wife took control of our daughter's eating habits. Mom has taught daughter to eat correctly no matter what her friends are having.
I just hope my little darling doesn't point at me some day and wail, "But Daddy doesn't eat brussel sprouts."
If she does, by family law, I will be forced to tell her The Brussel Sprout Story:
One year my mother forced my younger sister and me to spend summer vacation with my much older sister. I don't know what we did to deserve such a fate. Maybe that robbed bank? No, that was when I was 16. I'm sure I had been good the previous year. I think my mom just needed some alone time. So we were sent away.
You have to understand. My oldest sister and I were never close. That year I was 12 and she was 30. We didn't have similar interests. We didn't speak the same language. Two weeks with her was going to be all the fun of boot camp at Paris Island.
As we sat down to our first dinner my sister announced she had made my favorite vegetable -- brussel sprouts. It was 1972 so I didn't say "Are you on crack?" But my face betrayed my sentiment.
"Mom said you loved brussel sprouts."
"I hate brussel sprouts. gau-odd." Oh, I could say "god" with the best of them.
A small voice to my left piped up, "I like brussel sprouts." My darling younger sister. She really did love them. Strange girl. She also ate sugar sandwiches and radishes dipped in Durkee seasoning salt.
"See? She likes them. Not me. You confused what Mom said."
I had called her memory into question. I was in her home. Behind enemy lines. I was now a prisoner of war.
"You're not leaving the table until you eat everything on your plate."
I immediately capitulated and ate the sprouts with a smile.
Come on. Be serious. I had stood up to much stronger forces than my sister. I dug in.
I sat back and waited. My sister had fired the first shot, but I believed I lead the world in stockpiles of will. My sister looked at my will and decided an embargo was her only option.
I missed going outside and playing until dark. I missed family game time. I missed TV. I wasn't allowed to read.
All I was allowed to do was sit and watch brussel sprouts decompose.
Finally, it was bedtime. I was told that I would get the sprouts for breakfast if I didn't eat them now.
I looked for an escape. I'd had enough. I spied my savior.
I covered the sprouts in A-1 steak sauce and swallowed each whole.
No chewing. Each one whole slid down with the tang of A-1. I looked my sister in the eye as I popped each one in my mouth.
I envisioned my sister admitting to my mother that I had choked on a brussel sprout. But I didn't choke. I really didn't taste the sprouts either.
But I did lose my taste for A-1 steak sauce.
It's over 30 years later and I still get a memory of A-1 when I smell cooked brussel sprouts. Just the smell mind you. I'd never let another brussel sprout near my mouth. Unless my daughter wails, "Daddy?"
If you ask, my dear daughter, daddy will eat brussel sprouts with you.
Please pass the A-1.