Waiting for Petite October 09 2013
Whenever one of us refused to eat supper, Dad would get up, grab the plate take it to the refrigerator, put it in, slam the door shut, then come back to the table and sit down. “We will wait for Petite, for he will come,” he’d say, while shaking a pointed finger at us. We would say, “Good he can have it… whoever he is.” Dad would eat without saying another word to us. Later on, when Johnnie and I would get hungry and we would go to the kitchen. Dad would sneak in from the dining room table where he was always perched correcting his students homework and ask, “What’s the matter?” If we said we were hungry he would say, “Hm, I see that Petite has arrived?” And we would say, “Petite who?” Dad would stand there laughing at us for what he really was saying was that our “appetito” [appetite] had arrived. Dad would then take the plate of food from the refrigerator, put it on the kitchen table and say, “Hey Yio! There you go!” As he went back to correcting papers he could hardly keep from laughing.
Johnnie would yell, “I’m not eating that! You eat it! You know Dad, not everyone likes the same food as you. What about more variety… like what my friends eat?”
“You want variety? Then go live with them!
He knew we wouldn’t eat what we’d refused at supper, but he got a big kick out of torturing us. He would just mutter under his breath, “You’re all nuts! Something is wrong with your cucuzza [One’s head or squash]. You don’t know what it is like to be hungry!”