I’ve known this for years about my son, who’s now 13, but the other day something hit me, and I didn’t like it. I had to bring it up.
Me: You’re my kid. You’re Italian. You have Italian genes and I raised you Italian. So how do you not like tomatoes?
Kid: It’s not that I don’t like tomatoes. I hate tomatoes.
Me: But you eat ketchup on your hot dogs, which, by the way, is a sin. Everyone knows you put mustard on a hot dog, not ketchup. But that’s not the point. The point is: Ketchup comes from tomatoes. The sauce you eat on your spaghetti comes from tomatoes. And you love ketchup and spaghetti. So you should love tomatoes.
Kid: You can’t taste the tomatoes in ketchup or spaghetti.
Me: You wanna know a secret? There’s tomato on the hamburgers you love so much, too.
Kid: No. I order hamburgers without tomato.
Me: Yeah, well, when I barbecue burgers, I make them with tomatoes.
Kid: And I take them off.
Me: That’s ridiculous. You’re Italian—how can you take tomatoes off? You know what? We’re gonna try a tomato right now and you’ll see . . . Here, try this one.
Kid: I can’t. That thing horrifies me.
Me: Look at it, though. It’s beautiful. Do you realize that in the 1500s the Italians used to grow tomatoes just for their beauty? They were like ornaments.
Kid: I have no problem looking at them or even putting them on the Christmas tree with the other ornaments—
Me: We Italians call the tomato pomo d’oro. You know what that means? It means golden apple. You like apples, right? Wouldn’t you love a golden apple?
Kid: Not if it’s really a tomato.
Me: Some tomatoes are sweeter than others. Try this grape tomato here. It’s like candy. You like candy, don’t you? Try it . . . It hasn’t even touched your tongue. Get your head out of the toilet.
Kid: It’s gross, Dad. I can’t eat it.
Me: If you can’t eat it, then how do you eat salad?
Kid: Without tomatoes.
Me: Of all the kids to have, I get the one that’s got the least Italian in him. Maybe you just don’t like the texture of the tomato. I’ll turn it into a paste so you can see it’s the same as spaghetti sauce or ketchup. (Whap!) Wait, don’t look at that or you’ll have your head in the toilet again.
Kid: See, I told you tomatoes are gross.
Me: What’s the point of you being Italian if you’re not gonna eat tomatoes? I guess you are half your mother. She has no Italian in her at all. I suppose I always hoped the Italian in you would outweigh the non-Italian in you.
Kid: What’s so great about being Italian?
Me: What’s so great about being Italian? Our passion. Our art. Our culture. Our food. Our passion! . . . And, of course, tomatoes.
Kid: I have a question for you, Dad. Do you like seafood?
Me: No, I hate seafood. Why?
Kid: Because aren’t we Sicilian Italians?
Me: Yeah. Why?
Kid: Because Sicilian-Italians eat lots and lots of seafood. We eat clams, sardines, anchovies, squid . . . It hasn’t even touched your tongue. Get your head out of the toilet.
(Pause.)
Me: You do like seafood, don’t you? And you have eaten it all your life, haven’t you?
Kid: Yeah, I love it.
(Pause.)
Me: Maybe you are my Italian kid after all.
Email Michael Picarella at michael.picarella@gmail.com. To read more of his stories, pick up his book, “Everything Ever After,” at www.MichaelPicarella.com.
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