Perhaps it is because I’m a dad, playing at being mum, or
perhaps it’s because I am a dad playing at being dad, but I’ve noticed a
distinct difference between myself and almost all the adults that Flo and I
come across. I’m not uptight about her food.
I like to socialise and I like to take Flo with me, as
she likes to go places, see people, and play.
As a result we have eaten in a number of situations and contexts, with
other children, and in child free environments.
And there, I have noticed the definite trend towards making children finish
their meals, which I’m sure is not even a revelation to most of you and indeed
is to be expected. That’s what parents
do, they nag their children to eat their greens or whatever it is the child is
fussing over. ‘They have to be grateful
and eat what they are given.’
Now, there are times when you make a child do something because
it really matters. Stopping on the curb
for instance is hyper important. Pushing
their wriggling feet into shoes while they try and escape because you have to
be in the car right now or you’re going to be late, is certainly a moment to make
them do what you want; but eating? Make? It means forcing, coercing, imposing; pushing
aside their thoughts and wishes and replacing them with your own. Florence and I are a team, we have to be,
there is no one else; it’s us against the universe and we need to make sure we
have it outnumbered.
The whole clearing your plate idea is a war time
mentality; it’s rationing, it’s pre industrial agriculture. If we look at the reality now, food is not a
scarce commodity to be eked out, food now, is killing us. We have so much nutrition that nothing in our
evolutionary history has prepared our body for vast amount of cheap nutrients
it will face. Then there is the whole
subject of her femininity and the realm of the body image and society. Eating disorders all stem from the same
thing. Food as an issue. Food as an enemy. Too much food. Good food.
Bad food. This food, that food. Food food food. The psychology of gourmandization.
I don’t force her to sit at the table and eat. I don’t do it to myself so I won’t do it to
her. I was made to sit and eat as a
child and it made meals miserable. She
doesn’t have a mum, she has cause to be miserable without me creating spurious
new reasons. Food is fun. Food is great. Food is one of the best things there is. Food is the foil to misery.
I made cakes recently.
Never done it before, and everyone agreed they were great. The only reason I did it is to practice so we
can bake together. I bet we’re going to
make some awesome cakes, with lots of icing, and smarties, and jam. I’m only saying that to lighten things a bit
and bring out the sunshine as it’s all going rather heavy.
Amongst my friends there are a few people who struggle
with their weight; some of them yo-yo and some of them just yo, and I’ve
noticed they are all plate clearers.
Why, because they were made to by their mum and they’ve never questioned
it. Me, I question almost everything and
I’m not doing it to Flo just because someone did it to me.
At this point I have to come clean and say I am
thin. I always have been, and I live on
fat, sugar, and alcohol, so obviously food is not an issue to me and I dare say
I appear hypocritical to those who do have to watch what they eat, and think
about it, and turn it in to an issue for the sake of their own good health.
This is all personal experience of course, but I’m not a
plate clearer and I think that is a big part of my success. When I’m hungry I eat, sometimes I get
through vast amounts, sometimes a quick bite and I’m done, and when I stop been
hungry I stop eating and throw it in the bin.
That’s it. That’s the David
diet. I’m unlikely to make a million
from that book?
Sometimes Flo is a bottomless pit. Sometimes she will pick at her Cherrios in
the morning and eat three of them, once, I refilled her bowl three times at her
insistence. As often as is practical I
make sure we eat together. I try and
make the same thing for both of us, or variations on the same thing. She doesn’t like bacon or mushrooms in her
pasta, my fish is normally a fillet as opposed to fingers. We listen to the radio and she talks about
her day. Sometimes she gets confused and
tells me about Bob the Builder’s day instead.
I encourage her to eat of course, and will persuade if she’s not had
much. Let her rest for a moment, have a
drink, distract with whatever comes to hand.
Stealing her food and eating it in front of her is a good trick, unless
she joins in and feeds me handfuls of her dinner. I’ve told her bolognaise is not finger food
but she won’t listen.
But I don’t force her.
I don’t bully or threaten, removing desserts or an episode of Pingu
before bed. I eat with her, and if she
won’t eat then I let her get down and that’s it. I never pre-emptively mention sweets so I can
take them away, I just don’t give her any if she says she’s not hungry and
doesn’t want her dinner. She has the
power to make decisions so must learn they have consequences. Many people seem to learn this far too late,
only when they’re in debt or pregnant.
Florence will, I suspect, not be an habitual plate
clearer; I hope she’ll have broad tastes and be willing to try new and
potentially exciting foods, and enjoy a good meal as much as I do without
fearing that she’ll jeopardise some artificially imposed expectation of form.
And like cakes.
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