When I was a child I was often disgusted at the sight of the food my mother plopped down in front of me at the dinner table. Almost anything she cooked looked like what I thought to be monster vomit. I was so sure that she was hiding monsters (ones from my favorite book of course, Where the Wild Things Are) in our kitchen cabinets, feeding them the good food, and having them masticate and regurgitate it onto my plastic peewee Herman dinner plate. Being the very opinionated and outspoken child I was, I would tell her that I did not approve of her entree choices and would refuse to eat anything except Kid Cuisine microwave dinners (mm, freeze dried brownies and preburnt cheesy mac in tiny blue trays) until she made more scrumptious meals. I of course ended up losing most dinner table battles due to the fact that I did not actually know how to use a microwave let alone reach it. I very soon realized that it was just certain ingredients that made the food so foul. Mushrooms for instance. I have never in my life met a child who enjoys mushrooms. Why parents even try to get their children to eat them stumps me. I would pick out every little minced piece of mushroom and make a tower of filth beside my plate on the kitchen table. When my mother would question my grey statue of mushroom goop, I would state that I did not like mushrooms, half hoping she would stop cooking with them, half just being a defiant ruffian. Time after time, I received the same response from her. She'd say, "You'll gain a taste for them one day. Just wait, when you're 30 you'll love mushrooms." I was always so appalled. A taste for mushrooms? Impossible. They tasted just like what they are; fungi. Just the word put a bad taste in my mouth. Still to this day she uses the disgusting ingredient in all of her meals, assuring me that I will one day love them. Except now that I'm older it's more than mushrooms she's trying to shove on my plate. Not just her, all of the adults in my life. I'm quite sick of people trying to foresee my future. Telling me what I will love, and regret, and be, and want. I cannot count the times I've heard the phrase, 'I just want what's best for you'. This may be a completely immature thing to say, but I think the person who knows what's best for me right now is well, me. I know they are just trying to help, but their guidance is coming from their morals. Morals that differ from my own. Open house season made this so much more apparent. At Fathers Day brunch, my grandfather came at me with this, "Yesterday, I was golfing and the guys asked me, 'So what about those grandkids of yours graduating this year Doug? What are their future plans?' and I said to them, proudly, 'Well, I have three who graduated last year, one's pre law, one is pre med, and one is studying to get her doctorate in psychology. This year I have three more graduating, two are going pre med and one is well...." from there he stopped his story and inquired, "Brianna, why don't you be a nurse or something? They make semi good money." I told him I'd think about it. Of course my 'thinking about it' lasted an abrupt 3 seconds and of course was all negative thoughts. At this point I really have no set plan for my future. The thing is, I do not want to know what I will be doing. Everyone is so keen on having plans. On making goals, and sticking to them. I cannot say what I'll be doing one year, five years, ten years from now. The only thing I can say is what I won't be doing. I won't be stuck doing something that I don't love, even if it assures that I will have a 'secure' lifestyle. I have too much passion to waste it. Oh, and I still won't like mushrooms.
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