Part I
It happened many years ago. Everyone had already
benched and gotten up, even cleared the table and only
I remained sitting, my cholent still before me,
promising myself for the 100th time that I wouldn't do this
to my children. I would not force my poor daughters to eat
beans, humous and kishke; I wouldn't tell them to sit at the
table until they finished eating.
And yet, today, as a mother, I also force feed; in my home,
the children also drink their milk with no choice, forcing
themselves to swallow three spoons of salad and suffer to
finish half a sandwich without groaning, "It's hard."
There are nights when I simply don't sleep, out of worry.
Today's researchers are discovering shocking things about
children who suffer from osteoporosis because of a calcium
deficiency, pre-school children with cognitive difficulties
from malnutrition and girls who don't know the multiplication
table because they haven't gotten enough iron and vitamins.
But I say, it isn't that they didn't receive enough. It's not
the parents' fault. These children get everything handed to
them on a silver platter, but they don't want it!
What didn't I do so that they would eat? From the point of
view of the palate, my food is tasty. I'd even say too tasty.
I'm also careful about dishing out a small quantity so that
they won't be frightened by the amount; I take out the pits
and the bones, the black bits and the skins, am careful not
to mix the mayonnaise into where it's not wanted and to throw
a pinch of salt where it is. And after all my preparations,
when they finally do me the favor of sitting down to the
table, then it starts.
"Ima, it's so much!" Mendy mutters.
"Ach," Tzivi touches the potato with her fork. "I have no
room."
"Of course you have no room," I counter, pushing a spoon at
Tzivi and keeping Shloimy's spoon at the ready. "Why did you
eat the potatoes first? I told you to start with the fish.
Now you have to finish."
"Oy," she sighs. "I've already grown enough from the
potatoes. What do I need the fish for?"
"Of course you need it," I answer, just in time to save my
spoon before Shloimy throws it and its contents at the wall.
"Why are you sitting here, dreaming?" I turn to Chani, who
for ten minutes has been staring at the steam rising from her
plate. "Such delicious, healthy food!" I wish someone would
prepare and serve me such food and here I have to beg.
"It's tasty but I don't like it,' the seven-year-old diplomat
answers. "And all this green stuff is mixed inside. Oh, feed
me," she begs. Aha! So that's what she's been waiting for for
ten minutes.
"Chani, you're big enough to eat by yourself," I begin the
scene that is doomed from the start. Chani inclines her head,
shrugs her shoulders miserably and waits quietly. She knows
she has time on her side. "Nu, Chani!' I try again while I'm
washing Shloimy's face.
"But the green things," she points towards the plate
pleadingly. Suddenly, the peas have joined the list of black-
listed foods. I sigh deeply, release Shloimy and sit down to
feed my eldest.
"Why just her?" Mendy gets angry. "Me, too." He shoves his
plate towards me with a force that pushes a goodly portion of
the carrots onto the tablecloth.
"That's it! I'm finished!" Tzivi throws down her fork wearily
on the half pecked pile.
"What do you mean, you're finished?" I ask. "You have exactly
four spoonfuls left. Sit down and finish them! " She crosses
her eyes at the spoon making its way to Chani's mouth and
says sleepily, "It's hard. I can't by myself."
With no choice, I begin the spoon parade in the direction of
their mouths. If I don't hurry now, I'll only be able to
dream of sleep. "But this is the last time," I warn. A vain
hope. How many times after that did I feed them? It's
apparently par for the course.
But do you know what? There's some satisfaction in the
knowledge that had you not sat and spent your precious
minutes of sleep, your brood would be starving, not to
mention the amount of vitamins, minerals and carbohydrates
they would lose. What would happen without you? Of course,
it's a bit annoying that it happens just at the wrong times,
but there's no choice.
I was just wondering when this period would end. Well, one
day, I get to the park and what do I see? A lady sitting on
the bench, four children on either side plus a baby in a
carriage, and everyone holding a sandwich -- and eating
it.
"Tzivi!" I catch her on her way to the slide, "Open wide!"
She opens her mouth. I score another bite. On the merry-go-
round, Shloimy sits, conducting the turns. "Shloimy, open
wide!" Shloimy shrugs his shoulders in refusal. "Okay, we're
not coming back to the park!"
Shloimy opens his mouth unwillingly, swallows the bite and
continues turning. I push an egg on Mendy while he's still on
his bike; only in the park can he finish a whole egg. Chani
is playing rope with a sandwich in her hand and Tzivi is
drinking from his leben while crawling on the gravel. I know,
it sounds awful, but if they don't eat like that, they'll
practically starve. And at home, if I didn't put it in their
mouths or tell them a story, they'd go to sleep on an empty
stomach. But what is taking place right in front of me is a
miracle. The tall boy finished his sandwich and asked his
mother for a cucumber!
"Excuse me," I couldn't stop myself, "I wanted to ask... how
do your children sit like that and eat quietly? How do you do
it?"
"And how do they eat by you?" the woman asked.
"They don't eat by me. By me they play, ride, climb or listen
to a story and swallow something incidentally."
She smiled. "Why do you need all this fanfare? Who doesn't
want to eat? By me, whoever doesn't want to eat -- doesn't
eat!"
"What?" I almost shouted, "Do you know what would happen in
my house if I said `Whoever doesn't want to, doesn't eat'? A
public fast, they'd have themselves."
"Nu, and what if they fast? What will happen?" the woman
asked calmly.
"What do you mean? A child who doesn't eat, doesn't have iron
or calcium; he'll lose weight; he'll do poorly at school.
Isn't that enough?" I asked terrified.
"How long do you think a child can stay hungry?" she
asked.
"Okay, half a day, a day, but then he opens up the cupboard,
takes two crackers, and fills himself up for another half a
day. So what have I accomplished?"
"Ah, that's just the point!" she said. "As far as I am
concerned, they can choose not to eat for two days, but then
they won't get crackers or sweets, either. I don't run after
anyone. Whoever doesn't eat what I serve, gains nothing," she
lectured freely. "The moment that you turn food into a big
deal and start running after them, they think that food is
your personal issue. They don't know that soon they'll be
hungry. From their point of view, they're doing you a
favor.
"Don't waste your time running after them -- that just
teaches them that food is a good way to get attention. A
child has time. He leaves the bread on the table, or he puts
his mouth in slow motion and asks that you feed him. Ima sees
that nothing gives; she tries to push him, mooing like a cow
and quacking like a duck. Why do you think he wants a story?
By me, whoever doesn't want to eat, doesn't."
"So what am I supposed to do? Open a restaurant at home? Two
hours after lunch, one will remember that he's hungry. A
quarter hour after he's finished, the next one will come and
when the fourth appears in the kitchen, the first will sit
down to supper. We'll have food 'round the clock. You think I
have nothing else to do?"
"Who says they eat whenever they want?" the woman retorted.
"There's a schedule. I'm talking, of course, about those for
whom I have to prepare the food. Whoever is capable of
heating up his own food, let them do it whenever it is
convenient for them. After the time that I set, even if they
really want to eat, they'll have to wait for the next
meal."
"Just like in a dorm," I said. The solution is rigid, not at
all to my liking. "Fine. An organized, regimented life. I
wish that this subject would work for me, too, but I doubt
it. Thanks, anyway." And with that, I parted from her and
continued on my way towards the merry-go-round, to stuff
another bite into Shloimy.
I won't do that to my children. That's a prison mentality.
Is it any wonder they go for the cucumber and obediently
finish their sandwich? Like robots. Maybe I'm wrong, but that
lady's way is not the alternative for me. I prefer to run
after the children, rather than they should run after me for
food.
And so, I continued running after the children. And how!
[Second part next week. Meanwhile, try out your own
solutions...]
