Meal time wasn’t my favorite. I don’t have any memories of meal time that “Meant” something to me. When I was younger, eating was really something to look forward to if we got a decent meal. I mean, no hard feelings. I was fed. But it wasn’t 5 star meals and restaurants my entire life. When my dad went to jail, it was tv dinners. It was sit at the table until you’re done with your food. But what mom doesn’t know doesn’t hurt her right? Sitting at the table…..only to be forced to eat food you didn’t want to eat wasn’t my ideal meal time. Our food often found its way into the cracks of our seats, being tossed out the back door or in the hole in the center of the table. Carrots. Peas. Meatloaf…..blegh. Maybe once in a blue moon…….steaks…..yummy yummy. If only dad checked the salt and pepper shaker. Just so happens that day, sis and I put dirt in it while we were playing kitchen.
So meal time? Not anything special to me. Mom was usually away at work while dad was in prison. We’d find the food, make it ourselves and continue to live while mom made the bucks to put the food on the table. And people ask why Im so picky? Well when you’re used to eating mac and cheese, hot dogs and cheeseburgers….then thats what you want for the rest of your life. So pardon me if my taste buds don’t fancy your shrimp….or the onions and peppers. Give me a shake and some fries and Ill be the best uncomplainy kid out there.