I hate vegetables. There I said it. I feel better now. This has been something I've bottled up inside myself since childhood. And I have my dear departed parents to blame.
Well, who else? Safe to blame them now that they're no longer here to defend themselves. They did their best with me, though. They always gave me what they were having. Lima beans. Blech! Creamed corn. Double blech!! Wax beans. Triple blech!!! I think you get the idea.
I feel for ya kid
But the worst of all, however, was canned peas. We didn't have frozen peas when I was a kid. Although it would have been a cold day in July before I ate them, too.
I remember the strategies I'd devise at the dinner table. If I didn't hate the veggies on my plate too much I'd load them up in my mouth and take a big swig of milk. This would more often than not make me choke and I'd spit milk and vegetables clear across the table. I didn't care. At least I didn't have to swallow them.
Sometimes I did a reverse take on this. Loaded up on the veggies. Raised the milk glass to my mouth. And spit them into my glass of milk. Of course this deception only worked until dinner was done and Dad would rinse the dishes. He'd pour out the milk plus my serving of vegetables into the sink and I'd be caught.
What often worked was loading myself up with my portion of vegetables and then excuse myself from the table with a mumbled "Ah haff ta gho ta uhn baffwoom" (I have to go to the bathroom) then make a beeline for the facility where I'd spit out all the offending legumes and quickly flush. Then I'd return to the table and my folks were none the wiser. Or so I thought.
But Mom went to great lengths to ensure my brothers and I got our fair share of vitamins via vegetables. Like all good Catholic families, we didn't eat meat on Fridays. Mom often prepared a tuna casserole. In those days, a tuna casserole consisted of what one today would call Kraft Dinner, sprinkled with tuna and...wait for it...Mom's own special contribution...canned peas. That's right. Peas. Mixed into the casserole. There'd be no spitting them into my glass of milk. I'd have to eat them right along with the tuna and noodles.
Memories of Mom
To this day I remember Mom's trick. And I've never eaten another pea!
I guess you could say, unlike John Lennon, I never gave peas a chance.