Every now and then, my brain goes traveling down Memory Lane for no specific reason. And it comes back with a totally random very specific piece of my past.
Usually something that has to do with my childhood.
Chéri is very familiar with these Family Flashes, because I always feel the need to share them with him, when they happen.
I thought I’d start a little series, like a scrapbook of these tiny bits of my life.
This one is not especially family related, but when I found the following picture, I felt like sharing the anecdote anyway…
Meet 5 or 6 years old me. And my kindergarden teacher, Sister Georgette. Both blurry, I know, but blame early eighty’s cameras for that.
Unlike many children, I was absolutely thrilled to start going to school. I’ve always been hungry to learn, and this picture was the beginning of my ever-ongoing learning adventure. With Sister Georgette, I remember mastering the art of tying my shoes… A big achievement, when you’ve just entered the schooling system.
Sister Georgette was kind, and well intentionned. But one day, we had a confrontation. And that’s quite something, if you’ve ever been taught by a nun.
That day, my classmates and I came to school probably expecting to finger paint, and practice our alphabet. But I was in for a big (and quite unpleasant) surprise.
Sister Georgette had arranged an egg tasting. I said ”egg” but that was more like ”eggs” with a capital S at the end.
Somehow she had put her hand on all kinds of eggs…. Chicken (of course), duck, quail, others I can’t think of at the moment, and even an ostrich egg. There was a lot of effort put into this, because we then lived in a remote area North of Québec, and that was long before Amazon could deliver clipped toe nails of your favorite star overnight.
I was aware that what was happening was somewhat of a privilege.
But the thing is, I hate eggs. I always have, and I still do to this day. I don’t like their taste, I don’t like their texture, I only use them in recipes, but never as a whole part of the dish.
But in the early eighties, children had to try E-VE-RY-THING. Or so did Sister Georgette think. After cooking every feathery friend’s eggs for the class, she insisted that I took a bite of every species’ omelette.
”I don’t eat eggs, Sister” I said.
Which apparently was not a viable argument. Because Hey! I was just a kid, not meant to have any opinion. But sometimes, I guess, refusals are just not unfounded.
Mom had tried hard to make me enjoy the taste of eggs as a toddler. With no success. I always hated it, it always made me gag. I tried it many ways, and decided I wouldn’t eat it anymore.
Sister Georgette, not minding how I appreciated her, still forced me to taste the eggs, like my classmates.
And to this day, I still remember.
I didn’t die, but I was hurt. I don’t like eggs. Thanks anyway for trying, Sister!
3 thoughts on “Family Flashes…”
I was forced to drink milk and had to draw a milk bottle for every cup I drank on the chalkboard in front of the one room school. I was the only one made to do this but no matter how embarrassed and angry I was I loved that teacher and school.
I feel so much better now. I thought I was the only one who felt that way about Eggs. It’s good not to be alone.
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That’s how things were back in the old days — adults could have preferences, but kids couldn’t. In our house, we kids had to eat the foods our parents liked, even if it made us gag, but the adults never had to eat anything that they hated. I couldn’t wait to grow up so I would never again have to eat anything I hated.