Food Court
What are your choices? I think about this a lot, particularly when it comes to my son, his particular brain, a brain that rebels at choices, is wary of them. If he lived in "Groundhog Day," if he woke every morning knowing he'd be seeing and experiencing the same things, the same sensations, at the exact same times, every day, he would know he'd died and gone to heaven.
The rest of us, we have a smorgasbord, some good, some bad. Free Will. John wants nothing to do with free will. He wants life to be a menu with four items, three of them the same and the fourth with a side of mashed potatoes for when he's feeling lucky.
Food is a good example, actually. When we go out to eat in a restaurant, he gets chicken strips. I'm not even sure he likes chicken strips anymore, but that's what he gets. And he thanks the waitperson profusely, almost remarkably so. If he had money he'd be a great tipper, he'd be tipping 35%.
If his mom takes him to Subway, he gets a turkey sandwich with American cheese, a little mayo. Nothing else, never else, no changes. And an oatmeal cookie.
At home, he can eat the same thing every day for months. I haven't really tested this beyond that, out of fear that my boy could eat macaroni and cheese every day, every meal, until his 80s.
So it's sort of a joy when he discovers a new taste. We have a party and everything.
When my mom was kind enough to send a Christmas present of assorted meats and cheeses, John discovered smoked sausage. So I put it on his list (HoneyNut Cheerios, scrambled egg sandwiches, pasta, London Broil, pancakes, smoked sausage) and hoped for the best.
Now he likes me to cut up smoked sausage and put it in pasta. Sort of like meatballs, I guess, unless you think a lot about sausage. Not that he will.
We have drawn the lines sometimes. He went through a bean burrito phase and it was an uncomfortable period for several reasons, but really just one, so his mom cut him off.
We keep him away from caffeine for the most part.
My mother likes to tell the story of when I was an adolescent and she bought a dozen donuts. She left the house for a bit, and when she returned she had an empty box and a son with white powder around his mouth and a sign around his neck that said, "What? Me?" I know all about this now.
So we have that peculiar combination of a teenager's appetite and a neurology that resists change. I'm not saying it's not a challenge. Sometimes, even, when the cupboard is a little bare and his stomach is grumbling, I have to take him back to the past a bit.
"What about a peanut butter and jelly sandwich?"
"NO! I can't believe you suggested that! All I'm saying is that I'm HUNGRY, and I would like...okay. All right. I want five, though."
You do what you can do. I'm not complaining. I worry that his nutrition is less than adequate, but I could say that about myself and really, it's not by biggest worry. My biggest worry is about Change, and how it's always there and how he will have to steel himself so that he can see it, but mostly I take pleasure in the small things. A little spaghetti with some smoked sausage. That doesn't sound so bad, particularly if that's all you got, and that's all you want, and that's all you need, today.
5:53:49 PM 
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