Reflections, My Grandparents: Part III

Grandpa's memory wasn't ever very good, even on his best days. Maybe it was all of the kids they had. I don't know. All I knew was this: I've always-- from the day I was born, and probably till the day I die-- hated bananas with a passion. Just one whiff of anything banana scented sends me reeling away, gagging. I hate, hate, hate bananas. And I've always been rather vocal in my dislike.

But grandpa.. Grandpa was sure that I loved bananas. Every time I visited, I dreaded this. It didn't always happen. I think he liked to keep me on my toes. Or maybe grandma distracted him. I can't be sure. But there would come the moment when he'd come up to me, his hand hidden behind his back and would claim he had a surprise for me. The tips of my fingers would go numb, I knew what was coming. I'd close my eyes, hoping this was all a bad dream, if I didn't see it, I wouldn't have to eat it. But, no, I had to open my eyes. "A banana! All for you!" And he'd look so pleased. Each and every time I'd tell him "No, grandpa.. I don't like bananas. Really, I don't!" But he'd just shake his head and wave away my arguments. "You like. You like. Eat." and he'd shove the banana into my hand.

And I'd try. I'd gag, hold my breath, count in my head to distract myself, gag some more, tear up, and do my best to choke down that piece of vile fruit. If my grandmother was around, I could look to her for distraction. Then I'd be able to spit it out, throw it away under some trash, rinse out my mouth and wash my hands. But if she wasn't, oh, if she wasn't.. How I dreaded that! I'd be forced to choke the entire thing down if I couldn't disctract him. Then I'd weakly smile and try to convince him once again that I didn't like bananas, but he'd only nod, pat me on the head and said "Ja, is good. You like."