Vegetables and Tofu

My daughter was in fifth grade when she was asked to be in the school Spelling Bee. Her teacher thought she was a pretty good speller and had a great chance of moving up to the next level of competition. When she told me of her good fortune, I automatically had visions of my four-eyed daughter, clad in a white button down, front and center spelling words like: soporific or abranchiate.

Of course, this never happened. My vision was shut down the day I came home with a book of words (just to practice) and at my exuberance she informed me that she had no intentions of winning the Spelling Bee. I couldn’t believe her lack of fervor. Incredulous, I inquired. She told me that she was not willing to be known as the “girl who won the Spelling Bee” for the rest of her life.

If anyone knows my daughter, then they understand that this was a definitive answer. I set the book on the counter and watched all the letters, from a-z, scurry down the road into someone else’s home. We recovered, however and on the afternoon of the Spelling Bee, I wished her luck and sent her off to school. I wanted to go, but she again assured me that it was going to be short and not to bother.

She finished in record time and was out on the third or fourth round. The word she misspelled was none other than vegetarian. Her teacher made fun of her, as did her family. She said that she didn’t throw the competition, but she also wasn’t disappointed when it was time to sit down.

As irony would have it, four years later, she declares homage to animals and becomes a vegetarian. It’s funny how life brings stories to our doorsteps to either be welcomed or rejected, and if rejected, they keep knocking in other ways. Vegetarianism is her persistent knocker- I guess it is mine, as well.

She vowed her diet to vegetables just about when other teens vow their lives to partying, drinking, and/ or drugs. I was frustrated, at first, being a meat loving, steak and roast cooking guru. I fought with her over the dangers of “lack of protein” yada, yada, yada…but just like the Spelling Bee, there is no movement when pushing a brick wall. What I concluded was that this was her doorway into a world that I wasn’t a part of. I became comfortable with my daughters new identity and even relished in teasing her about it. When people would ask I’d say, “While other teens find their solace in a beer, my daughter identifies with broccoli.” She’d roll her eyes and spout off some statistic of slaughter houses or the woes of little lambs. It’s become our banter. I’ve even gave her the moniker of “Vegetesbian.” I don’t know why, other than it makes her respond passionately, with rote knowledge from PETA.

One day while we were heading to the market, I cried “Uncle!” She looked at me and I said it again. Perplexed she smiled and asked why I was saying that. I told her that she’s been trying to win since she was two and I am finally surrendering. “This tofu and vegetable thing is kicking my butt!" I smiled and said again, "Uncle! I wave the white cotton flag!" She laughed, sat tall and proud, as we continued down the road in my hybrid Prius, to get an alfalfa, tomato sandwich.