Note: This blog is part of a Thanksgiving series of blogs highlighting attributes of God for which I am thankful.
It was one of the most brilliant ideas of my young life…or at least the best idea of that long lunch.
I was born not liking peas. Try as hard as I might (which wasn’t very hard) to change my tastes, I couldn’t. It must be part of my DNA.
Before I was even old enough to reason through likes and dislikes, I knew that peas were not to be ingested—not by me, anyway. My mom has tales of how as a two-year-old, I would store peas in the sides of my cheeks refusing to swallow them. She says that when we had mixed vegetables, I could even sort the peas out from the corn and carrots while they were all in my mouth and swallow the corn and carrots while storing the peas. Apparently, I even once kept supper peas in my cheeks undetected until morning. Another time, a distraught nursery worker returned me to my parents with full cheeks of peas.
It took me a few years, but one day at lunch, I had a brilliant idea of what to do with my peas. My oldest sister, Nichole, was in charge, and both of my parents were gone. Peas had been served with lunch, and everyone else had long since finished. There I sat at the table with peas staring at me. (And peas make such awful faces when they stare.) Continue reading
