Yesterday we were invited to Easter lunch by a lovely young couple we met last year when we volunteered for the Homeless Count in Long Beach. They have a 9-month-old baby, fat and merry.
The invitation was an antidote to feeling slightly forlorn. Christopher was here last week on spring break, and left at midday to finish out his junior year, just before we went to lunch with our friends. It seems like the blink of an eye since he was in a high chair, and we would host the Easter gathering at our house. Time, age, infirmity, death and divorce have refashioned all that.
At lunch, we all laughed as the baby pulverized avocado with his tiny fists and made a fearsome mess of it. It felt odd, too, to be a generation away and to think, “That’s not how we did it.” Evidently “self-feeding” has been the trend for at least seven or eight years – no more spoon-feeding. The thinking is that spoon-fed kids are potentially obese and grow up to be picky eaters.
I could almost hear myself say in a creaky voice while brandishing a cane, “In my day, we fed our kids with a spoon.”