I once watched a television program about the challenges in Ethiopia.
It aired images mothers holding their starving children.
Little bundles of skin wrapped bones that looked intently into their mother's faces seeking nourishment. And yet these women had nothing to give them.
My heart broke, imagining such a predicament.
What those mothers must have felt like!
I stored it away, deep within my soul.
A few years ago, I looked into my own children's eyes. At the time had two, "healthy," darling boys. DJ, at the time, was 2 years old. His bright and compassionate eyes could draw in a stranger. Yet, below, were weighed with shadows... literally. Grayish, half moons sunk his skin. Well child exams reported that all was well. But I felt uncomfortable. Something was wrong. Eventually his difficulty breathing, and itchy skin at night sent us to an allergist. And the results shocked me.
Wheat. Corn. Dairy. Oats. Peanuts. Cats. Pollen. Grass. "Air"...
He was allergic to America.
The irony began. That although I lived in one of the richest,
most developed nations in the world, I couldn't find food. And just a few miles away was a building full of it. My child looked into my eyes, three heart wrenched meals a day, and I had "nothing" to feed him. Or, in other words,
I didn't know how to feed him. Did you know flour is in all of my home-baked, personal comfort foods? Pasta, waffles, tortillas, bread, pizza, muffins, cookies, crepes, birthday cake...out of the question. And that corn syrup- is in just about
everything. Oats takes out 99% of cold cereals, (and oatmeal of course.) Dairy knocks out icecream, cheese, milk, yogurt - and all of the wonderful products that are topped or prepared with these things. Soy is damaging in excessive amounts for boys. And, over time we found that DJ would start developing intolerance to some of our trusty substitutes! This, by the way didn't even begin on the long list of long-named, trusty preservatives that aids our retailers in preserving the appearance of our food. Mac & Cheese, for example...instant rash, and a volcano of mucous...every time. And even in my trusty fruits and vegetables. I soon discovered the consequence of the genetically modified. I found myself strolling the grocery store isles, like I was in a scene of the "Labyrinth," and I was as crazed as David Bowie. It felt like an illusion.
An apple was not an apple.
It looked delicious. Plump, crisp, and red spotted with luscious drops hose-sprayed droplets...
And yet the nutritional value and compatibility to our bodies was and is changing. Could it sustain life? For some time. Could it sustain disease? Without an end.
It was depressing to me. Diets, budgets, and emotional connections to things don't change overnight, but mealtime incessantly arrives. And my 2 year old's body was
already showing signs of toxicity. It takes time to find new foods. You have to
find them.
Buy them.
Prepare them.
Store them. And convince that 2 year old that that dense, dry crust of a bread can actually be
eaten. And convincing everyone, including myself, that there is nothing unusual about bring our own "special" foods to every social gathering. It made me sad.
It was asinine.
The solution? Regular visits to get the "pokeys," and a lifetime membership of Zyrtec.
Cured.
What about many of my friends children that are starting to experience the same conundrum? What about our children's quality of life in the future?
What about our connection to true life-giving substances?
It feels as though it is slipping through our fingers, like desert sand.
But, I refuse to let it.
Eating wasn't supposed to be this hard.
