Gonna Make You Eat Those Words

My father has a very annoying habit when trying to make us kids eat food.

Father: “That [food] has your name on it!”

And then he’ll dump it onto our plates, no matter our opinion on the food.

One day, we’re having dinner and my father brings out a big wheel of horrible cheese that he seems to like. I personally find it utterly disgusting, and the rest of the family seems to agree. Not that it’s stopping my father. The man can’t comprehend that we may not like the same food as him, calling us “picky” and “spoiled”.

Father: “Hey, [My Name], that cheese has your name on it!”

He reaches over to dump yet another piece of horrible cheese on my plate, and I promptly lose my temper. I’m fifteen and completely full from dinner. I’ve already endured no less than three pieces of that nasty cheese and feel like puking now. 

I’m tired and sleepy and frustrated, as well as stressed over my upcoming exams. It’s not helped by the fact that the Wi-Fi is down and Dad seems to think that’s a good thing as it’ll make me “waste less time on my phone,” never mind that a lot of my study material is online.

I slap the piece of cheese off his fork and back onto the communal plate. I then take my steak knife and carve his initials onto the piece of cheese.

Me: “No, it has your name on it!”

I then dumped it onto his plate, giving him the most baleful death glare I could muster.

I got grounded for the rest of the year for that outburst, but that was the last time my father ever tried to say that a piece of food had our names on it.