“Not at My Thanksgiving!” Or “How Danya Manipulates Her Family Into Not Eating Corn“

I usually host Thanksgiving for my family along with my husband’s family every year, with about 12 of us in attendance. We start drinking early, play games, and eat too much cheese before the main course. But this year we are heeding the advice of science and celebrating just the 3 of us. There are some real advantages to this. For instance, I slept until 9:30 am this morning and didn’t clean my house yesterday. Also, the ratio of pounds of turkey to humans is 4:1. We might as well take a bath in tryptophan. During non-Pandemic times, it’s a lot of work to host the big meal, but I continue to do it every year for one reason: implicit control over the menu. Specifically, the right to veto corn from the entire meal.

Do you know how traumatic it is to have a fear of a food that is a staple at nearly every meal in the Midwest? You might be saying, “Danya, being afraid of a vegetable/starch doesn’t seem plausible.” Oh, but friends, it is. The food repulses me to my very core. Always has. My parents would build a “fort” around me with cereal boxes when it was served at dinner (because of course it was my brothers favorite food) so I would be able to eat without gagging. When my parents weren’t home, he would also terrorize me by chasing me around the house with a bag of frozen corn. 

When I was in first grade, the elementary school I went to made you take a bite of everything before you could go to recess. What a completely asinine and archaic rule! Especially considering the quality of the food served in this mid 80s school cafeteria - canned plums, green-tinted gravy, a dish called “ham boats”.... So when the lunchroom monitor came around and demanded that I eat my corn, I told her it would make me sick. She said if I didn’t take a bite I would not be allowed at recess. I weighed my options - chase boys around the playground, or risk vomiting on my tray. Well, the boys wouldn’t chase themselves so it was up to me to take a bite of the corn. My body instantly recoiled from the putrid kernel in my mouth. I leaned forward, and vomited all over my lunch tray. The lunchroom monitor took a step back. “Go to the bathroom and clean up,” she said. So I did. And then I marched out to recess to chase the boys. And I was never asked to eat the corn again. 

Last year, at the age of 37, I experienced a similar incident, but this time I was armed with more confidence BECAUSE I’M A F$@#ING HUMAN AND CAN DECIDE WHAT FOOD TO PUT ON MY PLATE! My sweet little friend, “Ava”, invited me to be her guest at her elementary school Thanksgiving dinner. It’s the same school my son goes to, except he was too cool for his mom to come, so he didn’t want to have lunch with me. But Ava was in first grade and her parents were not able to attend, so she asked if I would come as her special adult for lunch. Swoon! Of course I would. And I brought her a present because I was so touched that she asked. 

As Ava and I stood in line in the school cafeteria, we chatted about all the important things we have in common: love for unicorns, stickers, fun nail art, and boys being dumb. As we got closer to the front of the line, it was announced that plates would be pre-assembled with all the food. This included a big scoop of corn in the middle of the plate. Que the mental breakdown. I did not want to embarrass Ava by being labeled as the girl who invited the weird lady who threw up on her plate, so I very quietly asked the parent volunteer (whom I didn’t know, even though I thought I knew everybody there) if I could please have a plate without corn. 

Me: I’m sorry to ask, but could I please have a plate that doesn’t have corn on it?

Bitchy Parent: Will it make you anaphylactic? 

Me: What? 

Bitchy Parent: Will it make you anaphylactic? Will you die if you eat it?

Me: No, I just don’t want it on my plate. It makes me feel sick.

Bitchy Parent: (handing me the plate with corn on it) We can’t accommodate that. 

Me: (Internal dialogue) Will it make Ava more embarrassed if I hold up the line while I mouth off to this bitch or take the plate with the corn on it and risk vomiting? 

So I stared at the Bitchy Parent. Then I looked down at little Ava, wearing a turkey headband and looking anxious to visit the dessert table. I walked away to join Ava. I poked around at my plate so that her feelings wouldn’t be hurt that I didn’t eat the meal she had invited me to, but all of it basically ended up in the trash. The waste made me feel guilty, but more than that, I felt bitter that these ridiculous rules about food are still being imposed 30 years later! I could have lied and told the Bitchy Parent I was allergic, but that wasn’t the point. I shouldn’t have had to! And it seemed insensitive to those with serious food allergies to make up a story about it. 

So Bitchy Parent at my kid’s school - you got a pass this year because the lunch was not held due to the pandemic. But next year, IT’S ON!  And you have also made it on my Grudge List. 

And to my family who would normally attend my meal and who are probably savoring their trashy corn dish? I am happy for you. But next year, when you are all back on my turf, the no corn at Thanksgiving rule will be reinstated!

Happy Thanksgiving! I’m grateful for all of you.