Not My Finest Moment as a Sister
I may have caused some internalized trauma…
I found the box of frozen fish sticks in the freezer, dumped a dozen of them onto the old cookie sheet, and preheated the oven. Next, I got the ketchup and honey out of the pantry. We ate everything with honey as kids. Once the timer for the fish sticks went off, I pulled them out and spatulated them onto two separate plates for each of us. It was my job to make sure my sister and I ate dinner before being picked up to go to baton practice. Every Monday night, I would make an easy dinner, something quick that could be made and eaten within the hour we had between getting home from school and leaving from practice. I brought dinner over to the kitchen table where Katie was waiting, her homework spread out in front of her
“What are fish sticks made of?” She asked me as I slide her plate in front of her.
“Fish,” I replied, “what else would they be made of?”
“But is it real fish, or fake fish? Like they say it’s fish but it's something else?”
“I don’t know Katie,” I say, exasperated that she wouldn’t just eat the dinner as I ate my fish sticks quickly. I also had homework to do and didn’t want to stay up late after practice to complete it.
“Can you find out?”
I sighed but got up from the table and pulled the now empty fish stick box from the trash.
“Ingredients:” I read aloud. “Cod, haddock blah blah blah. Yes, it is real fish.”
“I’m not eating it then.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t eat fish.”
“You have been eating fish sticks your whole life.”
“Not true.”
It was true. The meals I remember from my childhood were chicken nuggets with honey, fish sticks with honey, Mrs. Bonnie’s spaghetti casserole, potato chip casserole, cheeseburgers, and hot dogs. I am sure there were other things in the rotation but those were the standouts in my memory.
“Yes, you have. You have to eat dinner before Grandma gets here and we have to go to practice. I’m not making you anything else so you are going to eat the fish sticks.”
“No, I’m not.” She said with finality. That was all it took for me to lose my temper.
“Eat the fish stick!” I shouted as I picked one off her plate, and using my other hand, pried her jaw open and attempted to shove the battered and baked fish into her mouth. The now mushed-up fish stick ended up in her mouth, while tears streamed down her face.
Katie became a vegetarian her sophomore year of high school and I sometimes wonder if this incident was an initial trauma that lead to that decision.
