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Learning to eat everything, almost Every summer I used to go to Girl Scout camp in Tennessee. I loved hiking and canoeing and inner tubing—but I didn’t love the dinner table policy: Campers had to eat at least three bites of everything served, even if you didn’t like it. I was a picky eater, and that summer what I really didn’t like was coleslaw. I hated everything about it—the taste, the texture, the smell. I would gag just thinking about it. I begged my Scout leader not to force me to eat my three bites of coleslaw, but she wouldn’t be swayed. I even told her, “I swear, if I eat it I’m going to be sick,” but she just handed me a fork. I held my nose and put a lump of the slaw in my mouth, but sure enough, I got sick all over the dinner table, the floor and two of my poor tent mates. It was horrible, but at least nobody tried to make me eat coleslaw again. Rachel Pollock | Carrboro |
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