Not the Apple of My Eye, 1990s, by Becca

From MemoryArchive

Who: Becca 
What: Getting in trouble for wasting food
When: early 90s
Where: Alpharetta, Ga

Out of all the "first moments in my life," I have had plenty of memorable experiences. This certain memory I'm about to share, however, is probably one of my most memorable. In it lies the very first time I realized the significance of not wasting food. This may seem trivial to write about to some, but in my family, cleaning our plates has been one of the ground rules that have developed our relationship and values.

My mother possess many great qualities, but along with those qualities comes a passion that cannot be swayed. Ever since I can remember, she has instilled the importance of finishing whatever we eat. If my brother didn't finish his dinner, she would remind him of children who barely had anything to eat or families that couldn't afford what we had. This, of course, always caused him to grudgingly scoop the last bites into his mouth. I was usually good about eating everything on my plate; however, one fateful summer day I experienced her wrath in full force.

It begins when my mother had gone out and bought some delicious, bright green, shiny Granny Smith apples. I was a little child of about 5 with a blonde bob and short stubs for legs. If I remember correctly, the fashion of the early 90's wasn't the greatest, so I was probably donning some flowered pants and a shirt that matched. Well, around mid-day I was pretty hungry so I waddled into the kitchen and my eyes spotted those delicious apples that sat on the counter. I grabbed one and trundled outside to sit on my swing set. I was in heaven. There I was sitting on my rusty metal swing with an apple and the sun beating on my back. Then tragedy occurred. About half way through my eating of the tasty fruit, I decided that maybe it wasn't the right choice for my palate and moment of hunger.

As I sat there, contemplating the ways of how I was going to get rid of my apple, I had epiphany. There, right in front of me, was the National Forest that backed up to my house. Well, in my mind I believed that the best way to dispose of my treat contained a method where I couldn't get caught wasting food. How wrong I was. My little arm lifted and I chucked that gleaming apple as far as it could go into the woods. That's when it happened. I don't know exactly why I turned around, for it ruined me. Maybe it was because I heard a silent roar or maybe, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a silhouette dash away from the window that looked down on our yard. As I completed my turn I had sealed my fate. There she was, my mother, galloping like a raged bull down our steps from the deck. She ran past me into the woods, digging through the poison ivy, dirt, and leaves. My wide eyes shone with terror, as I stood there dazed. There she was, a champion holding her trohpy, glorified in the sun. She had found the apple. She raced up to me holding the apple into my face. "Eat it!!!!!!" she bellowed. I was stupefied. I didn't know what to do. I was a mouse in the paws of a lion. then she grabbed my hand and dragged me up the steps. I felt as if I were a rag doll. She strode over to the sink where she ran the water on the apple to at least get poison ivy off of it. I stood by the doorway, glaring at my siblings who were snickering at my defeat over on the couch. Then it approached me, sitting in my mother's hands, waiting for me to finish what I had begun. I looked up at my mother sympathetically, hoping my charm would win her over and I wouldn't have to eat it. Unfortunately, I was quivering under her evil eye, a magic that only real mothers possess. I slowly reached toward the apple and finished the last bites.

Of course, you as a reader are probably appalled that a mother would maker her poor child consume an apple that had been rolling around outside in the dirt. Believe me, at my young age I thought this was the most traumatizing event that would ever happen to me. However, this "traumatizing" event has made me respect my mom and her values, despite the fact that I might have unknown "forest" bacteria residing in my stomach. It was the first time that I understood how paramount the act of cleaning my plate was. To this day, I never come home empty handed from a restaurant if I can't finish my meal; you'll always see me take it "to go."