Threats at Dinner

Tonight– Zumba! Wonderfulness!

But then I get home and my stepdad calls me for dinner. I’m about to scoop up a cup of noodles in prego sauce when he pulls out a pan full of chicken. Not just any kind of chicken. It’s breaded and absolutely swamped with parmesan cheese. And they are each at least 7 ounces of meat! As soon as I saw it, my mind went, “There is no way he can make me eat that.”

He grabs his piece of chicken as I’m staring dumbfounded at the chicken. Then I start to go for the pasta again and he ushers me out of the way, saying to start at the beginning of the line (which would be behind him and at the chicken). I didn’t move. Conversation number one.

“You’re not going to have chicken?”
“No, I’m not.”
“Because it’s swamped with cheese and breading. Things that I don’t want to eat.”
“Just scrape it off!”
“Those things are huge!” (and I knew they would taste sooo bland without anything on them–why eat something that doesn’t taste good least of all in that amount? NOT WORTH IT.)
“Whatever, Mikael.”

We all sit at the table, my brother and my mom commenting on how good the chicken is. I couldn’t care less. Conversation number two.

Mom- “Why aren’t you eating chicken? You need your protein, don’t you?”
Me- “I’ll have a few almonds after we’re done here.”
Mom- “But George made chicken. It’s good for you.”
Me- “Not the way he made it tonight.”
Bro- “Come on, Kel! Breading is good for you. George, you should make breaded chicken more often; it’s good.”
Me- “And if you do, then warn me.”
Stepdad- “Then next time I make chicken, I won’t make you any.”

Just because he cooks something doesn’t necessarily mean that I have to eat it. If I don’t want something, he should respect my choices… but he doesn’t! He pouts and gets angry because I don’t eat what he made. Oftentimes, he won’t discuss what he’s making for dinner with anyone. He’ll just do it. Sometimes it’s relatively healthy… and other times, like tonight, I cringe from what he makes because it’s not really healthy at all. He knows I won’t eat seafood so he’ll make a chicken or a seafood free option for me… so why can’t he understand my choice to not eat something that doesn’t fit with what I want to accomplish with my health?

And this is why I wish I could afford to live on my own. Well, partially why anyway.


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