I Hate Tuna Fish
Some of the things that we ‘love’ or ‘hate’ may have nothing at all to do with the actual things at all.
I must have been about 3 or 4 years old. My mother and father were going somewhere and needed someone to look after me for the day. My aunt Betty and uncle Dave were saddled with me for the day. My aunt Betty was the CEO of the house; uncle Dave was a hard working, soft spoken dentist who yielded the reigns to his wife when they were together.
( pictured at left: My mom and me, Uncle Dave and Stuart)
Their son, my cousin Stuart, was exactly 2 months older than me. We always liked one another, but we were as different as night and day from each other. Aunt Betty wanted Stuart to ‘look good’ and ‘perform’ to reflect her own superiority as a mother and a gene donor. Stuart was always dressed perfectly and crisply. Betty read endless books to Stuart and coached him to repeat verses. Betty always insisted that Stuart perform for family and friends. Stuart would have been a child star on JEOPARDY had it existed in 1946. He knew the answers to questions on topics he could barely pronounce.
I liked Lincoln Logs and scribbling with crayons. At 4 years old, I still hadn’t mastered staying inside the lines. My cloths were clean, but hand-me-downs. My parents were loving and allowed me to find my own fun with an empty box or listening to Baby Snooks on the radio. I rarely was far from my mother side. Sometimes I was looked after by my grandmother, who lived in the apartment across the hallway from the apartment in which I lived.
Stuart always was expected to clean his plate by eating every last mouthful; I ate what I wanted and left the rest (my primary staple was PB&J or Bologna ).
On this day, after I was dropped off with my aunt and uncle, I began experiencing an unsettling, mild, stomach upset, the kind you might get when you feel homesick. My aunt Betty scared me with her abrupt, stern, mannerisms. She was very authoritarian, very unlike my parents.
During the morning hours I played alongside Stuart. After playing with each object, Stuart was trained to put it away before taking a different toy. My toys at home were all piled in a bin. Betty hovered over me and Stuart, demanding me to do things her way. Each demand made me more fearful.
When lunch time arrived we were instructed to wash our hands, a good idea, but not required at my house. Stuart and I sat across the table from one another and we were each brought a plate with a tuna fish sandwich, some potato chips, a pickle, and a glass of milk. I can’t remember if tuna fish had been part of my food experience. From the first, I didn’t like the smell; it turned my delicate, upset, stomach. I asked for a PB&J instead. Betty told me that at her house, people ate that which was served to them on their plate.
Stuart dived in and ate his lunch without hesitation. I lifted the sandwich to my mouth and gagged, as the aroma from the tuna fish hit my nostrils, long before the sandwich passed my lips. Betty looked me straight in the eyes and told me to “Eat It”. Almost, as if on some cue, I think I vomited.
I haven’t been able to even imagine eating tuna fish ever since. I do enjoy Yellow Fin Tuna at seafood restaurants, but I think of it as simply ‘Yellow Fin Fish’. These days, even when shopping at the local supermarket, I avoid the aisle with tuna fish. I hold no grudges against Charlie, personally.
I guess the reason my children don’t enjoy scrabble is in part due to the fact that I was too competitive with them when we played together, many years ago. I didn’t allow them to win.
Our actions do have consequences. No tuna for me please.