These are some fond memories I have from childhood and eating from my mother’s table.
Vegetable Soup
fresh Vegetable soup made from our garden
Dinner at our house was a structured event with rules set in stone that were strictly enforced. No elbows on the table, no drinking before the meal was finished, and no talking unless spoken to, were a few of the rules.
I had almost eaten all of my soup and was near the bottom of the bowl when I noticed something thick and green that looked a little peculiar. I carefully fished it out and was examining it closely when recognition caused me to jerk back in surprise.
The boiled Horn Worm hit the table and rolled a couple of times. My step-father, the Enforcer, sat to the right of me and was on me in a second. I explained in horror that my bowl of soup had a boiled Horn Worm in it – see right there? The worm was briefly examined and to my growing horror, I was instructed to finish my soup. I cried and begged, but it was no use. Gagging with each bite, and staring into the Enforcer’s hard, cruel gaze, I had to finish my meal.
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