True?

Well, I didn't have it that bad, but, since I didn't like drinking water that much, my parents would put a short glass of water by my dinner plate and I'd have to drink the water before I could eat. Mean, hugh?
 
We were always encouraged to try new things but it never really escalated to a test of wills.

"Shut up and eat it!" became a family joke for some of the day before payday concoctions that my mother came up with.

At my grandmother's house, it was always a speech about the poor children in China that would be glad to eat our dinner.

We never had separate meal choices but if we really really couldn't stand something we were allowed to make a peanut butter sandwich.

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Not really for me. As long as I took a little of each serving, I was OK. My mom knew what we liked and didn’t, so she mostly stayed away from some of the things that grossed me out, like asparagus. The one thing that I did enjoy and it surprised everyone was strawberry-rhubarb pie. The pie had to have strawberries and not just rhubarb.
 
Mine was the opposite if I didn't eat it, I got it for breakfast...cold and usually with congealed fat on it...!

What kind if mentality thinks if you don't like it when it's hot and freshly cooked you'll like it when it's bad..? needless to say, I wouldn't eat it at breakfast either so I'd often go to school on an empty stomach having just had a hiding!!!
 
My Mom was very strict at diner time especially. We were not allowed to leave the table unless we finished everything on our plate. I was lucky because my sister that is 2 yrs older than me would help me. Whenever my Mom turned her back my sister would take what I didn't like off my plate and put it in hers. Monday night was the worse night. My Mom always made soup and put Lima beans in it which I hated. My sister would pick them out one at a time and eat them. I paid her back though because after diner we had to do the dishes. So when our Mother left the room I washed and dried the dishes.
 
I was a finicky little turd

‘Yer goona sit there until everything on yer plate is gone’

I sat there

They’d all be in the other room, watching TV

My Howdy Doody time was spent watching cottage cheese separate

Eventually, Mom would appear and make me do the dishes

Gladly

Then go to bed

Gladly

‘Just try it’

I’d move stuff around to make it look like I ‘just tried it’
It didn’t fool Mom

I made my own breakfast from 5 or 6 on, so no issues there

I staved off starvation due to school lunches
Brown bag sandwiches
I’d eat any sandwich
Didn’t matter what was in it

We ate a lot of beans
Beans on bread
Got to likin’ it

Cake plopped into yer bean juice if you didn’t get it all sopped up in time
Got to likin’ bean juice soaked cake
Kinda miss it

Never was fond of organs
Still not
Especially if they have anything to do with filtering urine

Visiting folks was torture
They ate weirder than we did

Hot green slimy leaf wads of things

Fat roots, cooked to imperfection

Dessert could be something like bread pudding glop

Milk could be warm…raw, with clumps, fer gawdsake

I grew up somehow
Finding sustenance in chips, dip, and beer

Had a few girlfriends that tried to broaden my spectrum
Carmen took me to breakfast once

once

huevos rancheros

don’t be puttin’ that rancheros crap on my huevos

eventually my lady came along
slowly intro’d me to ‘normal’ food

and here I am

cleaned my plate of whatever

wanting more

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I was a really picky eater as a kid, my mother used to get really frustrated with me, and I don't blame her. I didn't like any vegetables, when everyone was having spaghetti with sauce, she had to make my bowl with butter, she had to cut the ends off my sandwiches for me to eat them, etc. She used to make me sit at the table until I ate what was on my plate, and always called me a skinny pickle because I hardly ate anything. After awhile she'd shoo me from the table in disgust. Everyone loved her cooking, I was just not a foodie....until my adult years of course. :rolleyes:
 
I was a very poor eater as a kid. My Mom knew what foods I hated and she piled them on my plate first. After I had eaten them she would let me have the items I really enjoyed. Sometimes she would bribe me by mentioning something we were going to have as a snack later on in the evening. In the summertime watermelon would usually do the trick.

I'd go through a bushel of string beans just to get to that watermelon.
 
We seldom got bad food but when it was bad my mom was first to admit it so we did not have to eat it. My dad always said when my mom missed the target, "Just right Maxine." I never heard him say one thing bad about anything my mom did. He was hopelessly in love with her.
 
We weren't force-fed, or anything like that, but you ate what was in front of you or went without. When we were very young our parents didn't have much money and most of what we ate was home grown.

I only ever refused to eat two things: Malto-meal (to this day, I druther kiss a water buffalo than eat Malto-meal), and a chicken I knew personally and had named and hung out with. I just couldn't eat ol' Sue.
 
We weren't force-fed, or anything like that, but you ate what was in front of you or went without. When we were very young our parents didn't have much money and most of what we ate was home grown.

I only ever refused to eat two things: Malto-meal (to this day, I druther kiss a water buffalo than eat Malto-meal), and a chicken I knew personally and had named and hung out with. I just couldn't eat ol' Sue.
I have to ask.What is malto-meal?
 
My grandpa was alway pulling pranks on me though. Switch my milk to goats milk, which I hated. Ugh.

Yeah, my dad was tricky too

I happened to grab a leg of fried chikin
My dad’s favorite piece

‘So, you like the pooper, aey.’

‘Nice try, Dad

If this is yer real name’
 
At my grandmother's house, it was always a speech about the poor children in China that would be glad to eat our dinner.
QUOTE]

We got "the starving children in Africa" and "an entire African village could live for a month on what you left on your plate". My late husband got "the starving children in China". My father said he was raised on "the starving Armenians". No matter where the children were starving, you had better NOT say, "So box it up and send it off to them!" if you wanted to be released from your room before you turned 35. Starving children = serious business.

I don't remember anybody being picky at our house. There were two options for every meal: Option #1: Take It, Option #2: Leave It. There weren't ever any leftovers because everything left on the plate was sent down the table to my dad to finish off. Then the dog got the bones and gristle. My mom was a darned good cook, so it really wasn't a problem.
 


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