It's all over the news. Dad travels, bad things happen. Take Jon and Kate Plus Ei8ht and all their convoluted New Math...Jon goes to Utah with his 23-year-old NotBabyMama and Kate has to file for divorce and get a manicure and have the Hedgehog Hair trimmed in the same day. And that governor goes to the Appalachian Trail, no wait, maybe it was Buenos Aires for Father's Day weekend with his NotBabyMama and his four kids are left with glittery handmade cards and no one to bestow them upon.
Tragedies, for sure.
I speak from experience. My own personal father was often on the road. Consequently,
my mother served beets.
Tuna salad, which is a lovely Daddy-is-Away Dinner; and canned beets. Beets were never on the menu when Daddy was home.
Fifty years later, I feel compelled to speak out. Perhaps because my precious, precious granddaughter is sampling vegetables.
Beets are pretty, don't get me wrong. Such a lovely color. But they taste like dirt. Not that I've ever tasted dirt. They taste like pavement smells when a rain storm sets in. That's fine for the Great Outdoors, but a little weird for dinner. They are too big to swallow with milk (believe me, I've tried, even though I HATE milk...) You can sneak them to the dog, because frankly, what's a little dirt to someone who chews on sticks; but there will be purple stains on the carpet before she finishes them.
There is a really good book, entitled, "The Beet Queen", by Louise Erdrich. Enjoy the read. But please, don't foist that dirty dish on your children. They could be scarred for life.
No comments:
Post a Comment