Wow, I thought it was just my
mother, but apparently there is a
worldwide cycle of this acceptable
child abuse...
I was always being made to eat when I wasn't hungry - one morning, I complained that I felt sick, and didn't want to go to school. My mother didn't believe me, and sat me down to eat my Cornflakes. I finished the bowl, and then puked all the Cornflakes back into it, quite neatly.
"See," I said, "I told you I was sick."
"Ah well, you've thrown up so you've got it out of your system. You always feel better after throwing up."
And the cow made me go to school. She also made me eat Brussels sprouts even though I couldn't stand them - still can't. When I grew up, I went round one time for Christmas dinner, and she'd made sprouts. I told her not to give me any, as I didn't like them - but she did anyway, and got annoyed when I didn't touch them. I was 26. Why, I asked, why did you give me the sprouts, even though I don't like them, and now that I'm an adult I'm past saying that just to be awkward? "Cause it's Christmas. We have sprouts at Christmas." Oh, okay. So at Christmas we eat things we don't like, just as long as I understand...
Update: I love parsnips. She cooked me parsnips once when I was a kid, and I yummed them up big style. We didn't have them again, and when I asked for them she said "Oh, no, I don't like parsnips." Fuck! So I have to eat food I don't like, but she doesn't? Sprouts and parsnips are both good for you! That's when I discovered that maybe, just maybe, my mother wasn't always right all the time. I didn't tell her though, I was too scared. She was bigger than me. I'm bigger now though, so I told her last year - she denied the incident ever took place. Ah, parents and their selective memories...