- EAT LIVER AND DIE!
by Anthony Crothers
As you might already know, don’t know, or don’t really care, I was the fourth child of four born to Carroll and Frederick Crothers in the early, early forties. (1940’s that is) I was also the littlest.[1] I can remember when I first was self-diagnosed with TLKS. This affliction was to manifest itself in many negative ways over all of the years, which as one might imagine, were many. There is no way, at this point. I can hide my age even if I cared to. My dilemma began with my first memories of being on this earth. I was the only person at the dinner table with TLKS. There were always at least five of us at the dinner table partaking in the sumptuous meal that was offered up by my mother each and every night. Well, most of them were pretty good, taking in to account that my mom, (I was instructed to call her Mother), worked the graveyard shift at the Douglas Aircraft Plant as a draftsman.” (This was an era when men were men, and women were still addressed in the workplace as men). I never did get that distinction as my mother was “Rosie the Riveter” only she made her .50¢ per hour with a pencil. There was a war going on, you know, and everybody had to do his or her part! My part was to be a good boy and eat all of my dinner, even though I was suffering with TLKS! No one ever spoke of my miserable condition, (TLKS), and like today, no one else much cared. One more thing, we always ate in our formal dining room. It was configured as most dining rooms were at the time. A swinging door to the kitchen, a wall with two windows, well out of my reach. A wall where the upright piano was placed. (I could actually crawl under the table and access the piano if need be. To the right of the piano was reasonably large opening to the living room that seemed always to be guarded by full grown adults. The adults were: my father, my mother and my two teenage sisters. They all seemed ominous in stature to a person with TLKS. At meal time the bigger people sat around on each side of the table and of course the kid with TLKS was obliged to sit right next to Mother.
The Table is Set!
Now that the “table is set,” so to speak, and you understand the “lay of the land”, I can share with you the dynamics that ensued that explain, perhaps, “Why I am the way that I am” Don’t forget, this was wartime, food was rationed, our vegetables came out of the “Victory Garden”[2] in the vacant lot next door. Everyone was expected to eat everything that was put in front of them at the dinner table, period! And of course, everyone did so, well almost everyone. Mother always made everything taste pretty good. Except liver. What made it worse was the liver was cheap, and Father and Mother loved it! They loved it so much that it was served on a regular basis, at least once a week. “Alas, woe was me”[3]
Liver is served!
As hard as I tried, I the kid afflicted with TLKS, could never get the liver down. Mother, seemed to always be there to make sure that I ate it. She would finally leave me alone at the table, along with the admonition that “there are starving children in Europe who would gladly eat this food if they were here. I was convinced that she was probably right, but I still struggled. You aren’t leaving this table until your plate is clean! “Until your plate is clean” Aha, there was a technicality there that I could work with.
“I could be counted upon to sit there for an hour without eating a bite”
I could be counted upon to sit there for an hour without eating a bite, until, until, Eureka! “Betsy Ross” our patriotic little black dog came by. Betsy Ross was a lot more patriotic than I, was at the time, and incidentally, I had finally found a being who was actually smaller than me!
Betsy and Me, “an unholy alliance”
And what made it really sweet, Betsy, she let me call her Betsy, loved liver! A match made in heaven. My “unholy alliance” with Betsy lasted for some time until Mother caught me discreetly, or perhaps not so discreetly, slipping chunks of the dreaded “L word” food to Betsy. Alas, all good things must eventually end. It was a good deal while it lasted.
“It was time for a new strategy”
I can’t remember when I came up with my new anti-liver strategy but it seemed to work for several years. As I got a little older, I was still a person with TLKS but I grew more physically agile and creative as well. And of course, my mother, who praised me, was very proud of my eventual evolvement into to eating everything that was put in front of me as a great sign of maturity. “It was time to move on!” The end was quite fitting: after living in our house for thirteen years, the decision was made by Father and Mother to move into a brand new house. The war was over. In fact, another war, (Korean War) had come and gone. The “Victory Garden” had been replaced by a large concrete structure. On moving day, I was still the person with “TLKS” in the house, but I did feel a lot more secure. We were off to start a new chapter in our lives. Ironically, the movers waited until last to put the largest piece of furniture on the moving van. As they lugged the heavy piano out of its berth where it had been for the last twelve years there was an interesting surprise, ten years of ensconced dried liver was revealed from beneath the piano. I truly can’t remember who saw it first, but I vaguely remember a wry smile and Mother faintly proclaiming the ingenuity of her young son, still with TLKS. Note:To those unfortunate people in Europe, I apologize but, to this day, I still harbor the same visceral reaction:
EAT LIVER AND DIE!
[1] TLKS: “the littlest kid syndrome” [2] Victory Gardens were plots of available land where normal urban citizens to grow food as a patriotic duty in a country at war. [3] alas! woe! is an archaic expression of grief or denunciation.
