At least twice a week my parents would place something nauseating on my plate, turn their backs for a moment, turn back around, and it would be gone, vanished, among the missing. They knew I did not eat it. I knew I did not eat. Everyone knew that nobody was eating anything, but they could not prove it. (Snicker)

Unfortunately for me, these people did not give up easily. Acting as Joe Friday and his sidekick old whats-his-name, they would gang up on me, and interrogate me by way of putting on very stern faces and placing me under the bright light hanging over the kitchen table. They'd frisk me, pat me down, run a metal detector over me, even unleash the dog on me, but nothing would ever be found. They'd come up empty handed each and every time.

"Did you see him eat that asparagus?"

"No."

"His plate was loaded with it only three second ago. And why is he looking up into the air and nonchalantly whistling?" 

"I don't know. It smacks of trouble. Reminds me of the bean curd incident." 

"Yeah, looks suspicious to me." 

"Me, too. Let's pat him down." Pat. Pat. Pat. 

"Anything?" 

"Nothing." 

"What about passing the metal detector over him?" 

"Good idea." Pass. Pass. Pass 

"Anything?" 

"Absolutely nothing." 

"Hmm. I got it. Try letting the dog sniff him." 

"Now you're thinking." Sniff. Sniff. Sniff. 

"Anything, Jady?" "Bark. Bark. Bark." 

"Nothing." 

"Nothing! That's it! Hold him down and we'll do a body cavity search." 

"Make sure to check inside his ears." Search. Search. Search. 

"Anything?" 

"Absolutely no sign of asparagus? However, I did find a Lego in his left nostril." 

"You have got to be kidding me, no asparagus? Are you sure?" 

"Hey, what can I tell you, he's good, really good." 

"You better believe it."

I had no choice, I had to be good for I was forced into this world of food smuggling because my parents were of the mindset that, and I'm quoting here: "If you don't try something, how do you know you won't like it?" My comeback was, and still is for that matter: "I've never been bit in the ass by a rabid rhinoceros, but I don't have to try that to know that I wouldn't like that, either."

They'd forever be using me as a reluctant guinea pig and introducing me to such putrefying so-called foodstuffs as: eggplant, turnip greens, yogurt, and dear God dare I say it (shiver) tofu! Of course, I'm using the phrase "introducing me" in the sense that one would sit on my chest, and the other would -- with the help of an industrial strength toilet plunger -- cram whatever they wanted me to "try" down my throat. It wasn't always vegetables, mind you; occasionally they'd try introducing me to more fancy-smanchy, high-society kinds of food like, for example, escargot and caviar.

These people where whacked out of their ever-loving gourds for as far as caviar goes; call it what you will, charge what you want, package it anyway you please, caviar is raw fish eggs, and I wasn't about to eat it. Escargot! Yuck! Gain, the name didn't matter, the price didn't count, and the packaging didn't make the slightest bit of difference whatsoever. Snails are snails, as in "slime trails on the lawn." This, too, I was not about to willingly put in my mouth.

Then of course, who could forget liver? I would have liked to forget liver, but not my parents. They'd say: "You've got to have your protein to grow big and strong." Stay with me on this; how about sizzling sirloin tips? That's protein, right? What about a Roasted Cornish Game Hen or perhaps a nice grilled-to-perfection T-Bone steak the size of Manhattan? They're all protein and they taste good. Now, brace yourselves: "liver and onions!" Eeeeeuuuuuu! See what I'm saying here?

Last, but certainly not least, there was sushi. I loved sushi, as long as it was fully cooked. Yes, I realize that sushi is raw fish, but didn't these people ever hear of fire? I knew they owned a stove, it was right there in front of us. Nitwit knuckle-dragging Neanderthals were smart enough to figure out the whole fire thing, and placing food into it, and they did this while living in caves, and dressing in deerskins, and sleeping on rocks, and running around busying themselves chasing dinosaurs. (Note: If you write me and tell me that caveman and dinosaurs did not live at the same time I will "introduce" you to some Brussels Sprouts, and you should see my plunger.)

Anyway, years later my parents are still up to their old dietary deceptions, especially my mother. Every time my kids come home from a visit to Gammy and Pop-Pop's I hear wild horrible food stories about squid, and pomegranates, and soy milk, and organically grown this, and organically grown that. I have to do something, and I have to do it right now before things get out of hand.

"Doug. Sara."

"Yes, daddy?"

"Come here kids."

"Yes, daddy?"

"What did you eat at Granny and Pop-Pop's yesterday?"

"We can't tell you."

"Why?"

"Mom says you'll freak out."

"Tell me, kids. Tell me now."

"Okay daddy, you ask...Brussels Sprouts."

"OH, DEAR GOD, No! I'm too late!"

"You made us tell daddy, you made us tell."

"It's okay kids." (Kneel down. Roll up sleeves). "Don't worry, daddy's about to teach you a thing or two about the food smuggling business." 

"Really?" 

"Yup. And you better listen good because we're going to Granny and Pop-Pop's for Sunday Dinner." 

"Mom says that granny will be serving squash." 

"She might be serving it, but we won't be eating it." 

"Really?" 

"Yup." 

"Cool. Thanks, daddy. You're such a good daddy." 

"It's my job kids, it's daddy's job. Now, listen carefully and pay close attention. First, always remember to never..."