"Eat your vegetables, they are good for you!"
"You must try everything on your plate!"
The call to arms was raised, as scouts peered across the expansive battlefield that was the dinner table. They are good for you, what sinister propaganda of the parental machine. If they were good for us, why did they taste so bad and cause our stomachs to evict their foulness in putrid streams of bile?
We constantly devised plans to thwart the veggie loving army and elude their consumption. My brother, in one attempt, dumped pepper on his mashed potatoes until they become gray. Tears running down his face, we gasped for oxygen, laughing as he was made to eat them.
Cheaking the veggies and asking to go to the bathroom would not work. Dogs and cats turned up their noses at collaborative consumption. Accidentally dropping your plate off the table may work once, by you only avoided your fate for a night. It was a lonely place, in exile with a plate of beats, hoping that the tea was strong enough to wash the taste from our mouths.
Trying everything was defined as a spoonful, and my eventual victory came in measuring a spoonful of limas and then taking them one at a time like pills, washing them whole into my gullet. Hoping they would not germinate and eat me from the inside.
I have finally succumbed to the mind control, as vegetables do not hold sway over my taste buds anymore. I rather enjoy them, except the lima beans. Permanent scarring on the palette still causes retching at the mere smell. Children...there is no hope in defiance...resistance is futile...the vegetables will win!