As I sit at the table starring at the unrecognizable food piled on my plate, I wish that I had a different mom or one that at least cooked normal food that didn’t look like someone had already ate it and puked it back up just for me to enjoy. This was a reoccurring thought I had growing up. My stepmom was raised in Wyoming. She grew up in a very Midwestern “Red Neck” home. They never had a lot of money; because of this her parents had to find unique ways to make dinners and other meals on a low budget. Unfortunately, this practice continued into my stepmoms adulthood and therefore into my childhood. I grew up knowing we weren’t rich people but I was pretty sure we weren’t poor either, so I never understood why she made these ungodly meals, casseroles. 
My mom would never warn me when she was planning to cook these “meals” but it got to a point that I could tell just by the way it smelled when I walked in the front door. Sweet green beans, juicy, slightly overcooked, chicken mixed with the unique smell of melted butter, moist graham crackers and the oily, milky aroma of homemade gravy. The combination of those smells was my indicator to call my friends and see if I could eat with any of them. Now normally, for other people, that would be the smell of a delicious dinner maybe consisting of grilled chicken with delicious homemade gravy and fresh cut green beans but not when my stepmom was standing at the stove. When my house was covered in that smell I knew it was not going to be a good dinner.
I'm not exactly the best judge for food either, Growing up I was a really picky eater. I had about five food groups when I was a kid; peanut butter and jelly, Kraft macaroni and cheese, cereal, cheese, and pizza. I never ate a lot of green vegetables, fruit, or meat for the longest time. On top of that I hated and still hate when different foods touch that shouldn’t be let alone these foods are mixed together in the same dish and cooked. So the nights where we had these casseroles like dinners were my worst nightmare.
I sit at the table starring at the unrecognizable food sitting on my plate, wishing that I had a different mom or one that at least cooked “normal” food that didn’t look like someone had already ate it and puked it back up just for me to enjoy. This dish that is topped with a golden layer of sweet honey graham crackers trying to fool someone into thinking that was underneath the crispy, golden layer is actually sweet and delicious. In reality, what lay beneath was really this creamy tan slime quicksand that has captured pieces of chicken, corn, and green beans and held them all hostages. As I go to take my mandatory “no thank you bite “( I don’t know if I should explain this or not), regretting every movement I make because I already know that I don’t like it. If I didn’t like it last time whet makes my parents think I'm going to like it this time. Every second slowly ticks by. My wish that I had a normal cook for a mom is a deep concern. I can see my hand coming towards my mouth with a spoonful of the goop, even though I'm screaming at it not to. As the spoon goes into my mouth, I try not to gag as I feel the intense slime stick to the sides of my mouth. The chunks beating against my tongue and the taste of dirt with milk and the dry dull taste of bark mixed with grainy texture of sand. As I breathe in deep and ignore the urge to vomit all over the table, I shut my eyes and force myself to swallow. One big gulp and its gone but the taste still lingers in my mouth. I proudly show my mom I swallowed and ask to be excused.
I scoot my chair out as fast and as quietly as I can. I rush into the kitchen, dump my plate in the sink, and grab a glass from the cupboard. I open the fridge door; grab the closest jug I can see, and poor, slightly excited as I see the bright green liquid poor out, lime Kool-Aide, my favorite. The liquid hits the top of the glass, I grab and chug. I can feel the ice cool liquid fill my mouth and glide down my throat. The taste of sweet green gummy bears sweeps away the last lingering taste of the nasty goop dinner. As I take the last big gulp I start to feel a slight smile come across my face. I set my cup down and realize it’s all over at least for now.
Though I am not found of those memories, I am thankful for what those dinners and situations have taught me. First, that no matter how hard me or my parents try, there are just some foods I will never like. Second, sometimes shitty situations happen and there is nothing you can do to get out of them. All you can do is take a deep breath, close your eyes, and force yourself to swallow because at the end of it all you will be able to set your cup down and be able to smile.
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