In addition to watching my sister and I during the day, our new babysitter initially promised Mom a good lunch for us. She didn’t know we were a pair of extreme picky kids, no fault of our own. Blame it on Dad who knew more about cooking, from a chef’s perspective, than most people who brought into the fast, processed food craze starting in the late 70’s. Good lunches meant a bologna and American single cheese sandwich with bleached white flour bread that never spoiled. If mayonnaise or mustard were added to my sandwich, I would rather starve. Hot dogs weren’t a good option, too. Most people served it with ketchup and mustard. Maybe a little pickled relish. After a few weeks of my sister and I refusing to eat, the sitter told Mom; we are too picky to feed. However, we would spend the next few years playing and growing side-by-side with her three lovely kids. She was tough love. Read more
