Mother, after mashing up a banana to use as the middle layer in a traditional Icelandic devil’s cake, thinks, “Mashed bananas were the first food I ever fed to The Four-Year-Old. I bet she’d think that was cool.”
Without putting any further thought into it, Mother digs in the silverware drawer for a Gerber baby spoon leftover from those halcyon early foodie days. Prepping it with a bit of mashed banana, she carries it into the playroom where The Four-Year-Old is relaxing in front of a Clifford cartoon.
Mother, excitedly: “Look, The Four-Year-Old, it’s the first food I ever gave to you as a baby! Want to try some?”
The Four-Year-Old, totally repulsed, scrambles under the couch cushions in her haste to get away from the scary slimy spoonie thing: “What. Is. That?”
Mother, still trying to keep that sentimental feeling: “Mashed bananas. You used to love them.”
The Four-Year-Old, hand over mouth, just shakes her head and looks vaguely sick.
Mother, abashed, walks back to kitchen, and dumps the rejected bananas into the sink. She pulls out a five from her wallet and puts it in The Four-Year-Old’s Future Therapy tin. We may not be able to fully fund her college, but by George, her therapy sessions will be completely covered.