Jul 23, 2019 4 min read

As an adult, I have had big struggles with food. I attribute this, in some ways, to the fact that we were made to clean our plates as kids. To this day, I have a hard time excusing myself from the table if my plate still has food on it.

At the same time, there were periods in my life when food was scarce, so if it was put in front of you, you ate it to try to store it for later. This is not a complaint, just a statement of fact. And, perhaps, maybe how I justify to myself my struggle in losing the last few pounds I need to lose.

For this reason, I didn’t make my kids clean their plates when I dished their food as small children. Now, I don’t make them eat if they say they’re not hungry. I let them make themselves an alternate meal if what I cooked isn’t appealing. (Note I didn’t say that I prepare a second meal; I’m not their personal chef, after all.) I try to respect their need to have a healthy understanding of food and its sole purpose: to fuel the body to do its work.

My eldest child enjoys all food. I was more persistent with her about trying new foods, I think. My middle one enjoys very few foods. She has benefited the most from the rule about cooking herself alternate foods. My youngest enjoys more than my middle, but less than my oldest. And he enjoys quantity the most.

We used to joke that my oldest had a big appetite after a day in the hayfield. She could eat a steak, a baked potato, a vegetable, some bread, and a slice of whatever dessert was baked that day. I’m beginning to think the joke was on us, however, as her soon-to-be-15-year-old brother is putting her appetite to shame.

We recently visited a pizza place for lunch. We ordered some wings and breadsticks for an appetizer. I prefer boneless wings, while my husband prefers bone-in, so we ordered some of each. Six of the eight boneless wings went to my son, and he then reached for some bone-in, as well. The two boneless that made it to my plate were tasty, although I almost didn’t get to eat both of them.

I cut the second wing into two bites and set my fork down between them. Apparently, the setting down of a fork is teenage-boy-speak for “I’m finished eating and what’s left is fair game.” I guess this because he reached across the table to try to stab the bite from my plate.

This is where my childhood hunger became a benefit. Instinct kicked in, and I swiftly parried his thrust and he missed the wing. I grabbed my fork, speared the last bite of chicken and quickly shoved it into my mouth.

We discussed with him about manners – I admit I may have laughed a little when he said incredulously, “I thought you were finished!” – and went on with the meal. He went on to put away several slices of breadsticks and pizza, and on the way home asked if we could stop for ice cream.

He has a few years of growing yet to do before adulthood, and I guess I need to prepare myself for his appetite to grow, as well. Perhaps I need to keep my fork in my hand for a while longer, too.

Laura Zoeller can be reached at zoeller5@verizon.net.