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My “aha moment.” Or White Bread Wisdom.

November 04, 2013

To me, white bread has always been on par with poison. I wouldn’t be caught dead eating it, and certainly wouldn’t allow my ten-year-old son to eat it, either. Being into health, I’ve always tried to limit his sugar intake, which, if you are a parent you know can be challenging. (Oh, those birthday parties!) My son eats with gusto, God love him, just like he lives his life. He has gone through phases where he’s chunked up a little bit, but he’s always slimed right down. IMHO, he’s the epitome of a healthy and fit ten year-old boy. He has become a picky eater. Often, he won’t eat what make for him, but if someone else makes him the exact same thing, he likes it—which has really driven me to start drinking. I used to give him sandwiches made on whole grain bread to take to school, and every day he brought it home, uneaten. I pleaded with him, begged him—even bribed him—to eat his healthy sandwich. But he never did, and I was miserable about it.

But I finally saw the light. (Better late than never.)  “Screw it!” I thought. “The world is not going to top spinning, if my son eats some blessed white bread.” I started giving him peanut butter and jelly on Italian white bread to take to camp. He loved it; he ate his sandwich every day. He was happy, and, so was I. I was happy, because I was free. (And now my poor son doesn’t have to be subjected to my ridiculousness.) Hopefully, we all learn that holding on to rigid definitions of right and wrong eventually stops working. And what a relief to step outside our self-imposed restrictions. Wonder Bread, your’e not dead, yet.

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