Sprouty Conversation

A few lines from a children’s poem written some years ago:

A thought for my little, exuberant friends
Please take time to read this, your attention to lend:
On the way to the table at the dinner-time bell
Do you look at your plate and complain you’re not well?

Got a head ache, a tummy ache, & you’re eyes are all red,
You say you feel awful, that you’ll go straight to bed.
As you enter the bedroom on your way to lie down
You catch a glimpse of the mirror...on your face an ugly frown

It starts way on the one side, & curves around to the other
Kinda wish you’d not told that big tale to your mother
So let’s study how much you like food… in great detail
Your story of not wanting to eat is a big whale

On your plate there was something quite dreadful you saw
That scared you, and shocked you, like a TARANTULA
When, in fact, it was just a small, green, Brussels sprout
Which sat there observing you from its lookout

But you had been taught by your friends down the street
That Sir Brussels was a foe that you never should meet
And so, when you saw him there, ‘lone on your plate
A great fear o’ercame you, as you saw his end fate

In the pit of your stomach he shortly would rest
You wondered if, in fact, your tum could digest
Such a challenging rival, such a threatening foe
So you faked you were sick, to your bed you did go

All this, so you’d not be obliged to consume
A few pipsqueaks of cabbage, and a youngsters’ sure doom
If ever you slipped and let them pass your lips
You’d be forced to then wash them down with juice and chips

There’s more to the poem, but this is enough to introduce you to my dislike of Brussels sprouts as a child up to the present time. I do not like their taste, I do not like their consistency. They have no redeeming value. Had they somehow persuaded (maybe bribed?) Mirriam Webster to include them in his dictionary as food? I thought I would look in my copy at home. This is what I found under Food: Any substance that can be eaten or drunk by an animal or human for nutrition or pleasure.

O.K. Let’s study that definition. 1. Substance? I couldn’t deny that it met the criterion for that. 2. Can be eaten or drunk by an animal or human? This is where serious doubts begin to enter in. 3. For nutrition or pleasure? Here’s where Webster really blew it. The man was deceived. The nutritional value for me was a zero, and to eat it for pleasure? Are you kidding? The fun factor was also zero.

There were many other vegetables rich in vitamins, minerals, etc. which I didn’t mind eating as a kid. But, for some reason, my mother was converted to the fact that a Brussels sprout was the most healthy, most nutritional commodity available in the produce section of the neighborhood grocery store. And there was no way to dissuade her from that opinion. So I had to suffer the consequences of that delusion. I’m sure she had good intentions, but her good intentions were causing the misery and near ruin of her very close kin. I still remember sitting at the dinner table after finishing all my dinner (except for the sprouts) because she had told me I couldn’t leave the table until I ate every last one of them. It became a battle of the wills between the commander and the cadet. There were times when I went to bed and was denied privileges because I was so obstinate. I’m older now, but I still hate the things.

My wife took me on a tour though the house recently to show me all her house plants. They are all flourishing, putting on new leaves…they all have a deep rich green hue. I asked what her secret was and she told me that every day when she watered them, she also talked to them in a low voice. She says they have responded to her just like the children did when she talked to them sweetly and softly.

After witnessing the success of my wife with her plants, I decided to apply her triumphant technique with the sprouts. I started off slowly, began to praise them for their lushness and verdure, with the ultimate goal that they would flourish like the plants and grow and grow until they became a full-fledged cabbage. I love cole slaw. But sadly, no matter how sweetly and softly I talked to them, nor how long, they didn’t listen. They didn’t grow.

My wife came home from work one day and caught me in the act. I was crouched over the countertop gently pleading with my tiny sprouts. She sweetly suggested that I try to make contact with the little green jewels when they were still in the ground, and guaranteed I would have success if I spoke to them while they were still alive.

Addendum--I’ve never been to Belgium, but I’ve heard from an authority greater than mine that a few Brusselanians (I know that’s not right, but I never learned the right word in school, and I’m too tired to look it up) are not very statuesque. Hence some might consider using the term ‘midget’ to describe them--no not that small;…‘dwarf’--no even worse;…‘petite’--sounds like a small, young girl;…‘little’--maybe;…‘gnome’--the only gnome I know lives in Alaska;… ’sprout’--yeah that’s the word. Now, do the Brussels sprouts like to eat a Brussels sprout? I’ve never heard of any B.S.’s that are cannibals, so I think they must dislike the things as much as I do. I have lots of friends with gardens who are constantly giving me B.S. But it’s not green nor does it grow in the ground! And I won’t take any of it from them either.