Pass the Peas

If you want to be considered an exceptional parent (and who doesn’t these days?) you should have children who not only eat their vegetables, but also beg to try new and exotic ones.

This is the situation I found myself in until late last month. I had not one, but three children who ate perhaps twice the recommended servings of fruits and vegetables.

Because it is common for us to visit the local farmer's market or King Soopers in search of new and different produce, my confidence, not to mention smugness, as a parent was quite high.

Things changed the moment my 5-year-old decided he didn't want to eat vegetables anymore. I suddenly saw myself as no different than the millions of other parents struggling to get their children to eat what's good for them.

This wasn't supposed to happen to me. After all, I was a parent who had provided a great foundation for healthy eating. I was a parent who kept the fruit bowl full of goodies. I made sure crudités were available before and after meals.

Like any other parent faced with a rebellious child, I decided to tackle this problem head-on. I sat my 5-year-old down for a talk about nutrition, but it did no good. He was convinced he didn't like vegetables.

I took up the matter with my wife. By taking it up with my wife, I mean I told her that I'd tell our son that he would stay at the kitchen table until he cleaned his plate and she told me, "Don't do that."

"He's left me with no choice," I said.

"Why do you have to prove you're the boss?"

"He's a child who needs to be taught a lesson," I said.

"Is teaching him a lesson more important than getting him to eat vegetables?"

"Do you want me to be honest?" I asked.

"You're a piece of work, Vince."

After much debate, by which I mean my wife belittled my macho approach to the vegetable-eating dilemma and I gave in and agreed to try another approach.

While the rest of the family ate sautéed baby spinach, my 5-year-old looked at us as if we were Fear Factor contestants forcing down liquefied pig intestines. I turned to him and said, "The spinach will make you grow up big and strong. Don't you want to be strong like me?"

"Maybe when I'm older," he said.

I felt like exploding, but was able to control myself enough to say, "l don't want you to eat any vegetables that you don't like. Tell me what you want to eat and that's what I'll make for you."

"l want french fries and ketchup," he said.

"Potatoes aren't the most healthy of vegetables, especially when they're fried.”

"Ketchup is made from tomatoes. tomatoes are good for you," he said.

"You think ketchup is a vegetable?"

"Yep."

"Tomatoes are fruits," my 9-year-old son said.

After my 9-year-old gave a lengthy lecture on fruits and vegetables, the 5-year-old agreed to try eating vegetables again. As long as he got fries with a red fruit dip once a week.

But like a diplomat signing a peace treaty he had no intention of following, my son was back at his tricks the next day.

This time my wife convinced me that "hiding" vegetables might be the way to go. So, in addition to the vegetables we put on his plate, we provided him with foods with vegetables hidden in them.

My son ate zucchini bread without complaining. He ate carrot and zucchini muffins without realizing they were somewhat good for him. Eventually, he caught on to the fact that we were sneaking vegetables into his food.

One day he looked at me and asked, "Dad, what kind of smoothie is this?”

"Don't you like it?"

"It doesn't taste like any smoothie I ever had before."

Okay, perhaps a beet, celery, strawberry, banana, and cabbage smoothie wasn't the way to go. But can you blame a guy for trying?

Having exhausted all other options, I reluctantly returned to the one where I showed him who was boss. At lunch, I told my son that he had to eat all the vegetables on his plate before eating anything else.

As foolproof as this approach seemed, it didn't work. My son got up from the table and said, "I'm not hungry."

Not to be outdone, I made what was once one of his favorite meals (chicken strips, candied yams, and peas) for dinner. The hunger strike was over, so was the edict to eat his vegetables first.

"Why aren't you eating your peas?" I asked.

"l don't like peas anymore."

"You need to stay in your seat until you finish your peas," I commanded.

He opened his mouth to say something, but realizing the discussion was over, he sat in silence. And while I was certain I had won the showdown, he showed me I was wrong
Being a stubborn little guy, he sat staring at the peas. The minutes ticked by. Eventually, he was at the table alone.

Almost an hour later, he picked up his fork and placed a few peas in his mouth. "Do I have to eat all these?" he asked.

I beamed at my son, just as any exceptional parent should. I had won...l think