TheBanyanTree: A TOMATO STORY

[Sachet]

This was a lovely and amusing story, Sharon. I like the style in which 
you told it, too.

On 11/1/2010 9:53 AM, smack58 at nycap.rr.com wrote:
> A TOMATO STORY
> My father liked
> to teach his children...
>
> Don't talk with your mouth full.
> See the difference
> between the salad
> and the regular fork?
> Is that the right spoon
> for soup?
> Elbows off the table, please.
> Use your napkin.
> Eat everything on your plate.
> Don't you know
> there are starving children
> that would love to have
> a meal like this.
>
> Late one summer
> in my seventh year
> several bushel baskets
> sat in the kitchen
> ready for mother
> to cook and clean
> and store in quart jars.
>
> My brother and sister and I
> could hardly wait
> to get our customary treat
> of a fresh tomato
> with little Morton salt shakers.
> We loved those little shakers
> as much as we loved
> the tomatoes.
>
> "Please, Daddy, please?
> He smiled
> handing my younger,
> but bigger brother
> a huge ole' red one.
> He handed me
> and baby sister, Biz,
> two smaller ones.
>
> As the eldest,
> I whined my displeasure.
> that brother got the biggest.
> Daddy raised his brows
> and said,
> if you finish
> and think you can eat more,
> you may have another.
>
> I hurried
> finishing mine first
> then rinsed the juices
> from my hands
> with the hose.
>
> I ran to get my second tomato.
> Daddy chose a small one.
> "Oh, no," I cried.
> "I want a big one
> like Patrick had."
> I pointed to a huge one
> at the top of the basket.
>
> Daddy warned me;
> my eyes were
> bigger than my stomach
> but I held my ground.
> Putting his hands
> on his hips
> he glared down
> at my stubborn self.
> "Sharon, you better eat
> every damn bit of it.
> No coming in here
> and telling me
> you're full."
>
> I nodded a big nod
> and skipped outside,
> sticking my tongue out
> at my brother,
> as I passed him.
> I grabbed my Morton shaker
> and off I went
> beneath the oak
> to eat my wonderful
> big tomato.
>
> Half-way through
> I knew
> I'd bitten off more
> than I could chew.
> Daddy'd been right.
> What to do?
> What to do?
> I sat  thinking
> while pretending to eat.
>
> Finally,
> I crept to the trash can
> and lifting the lid
> put my half eaten tomato inside.
> I hosed off my hands
> took my shaker
> back to the porch,
> and headed out to play.
>
> As I squatted
> at the sandbox,
> thoughts lost
> in my digging
> and building,
> I felt a tap on my shoulder.
> Startled, I turned.
> My father crooked his finger at me.
>
> I followed him.
> What had I done?
> Had I forgotten
> to do a chore,
> had my mother called
> and I hadn't heard her?
>
> Daddy walked
> to the garbage can.
> and lifted the lid
> I had lifted
> just a while before.
>
> Pointing
> to my half-eaten tomato
> he said one word,
> "Eat!"
> I squiggled and squirmed.
> He glared and repeated
> his one word command.
> "Eat!"
>
> Reluctantly,
> I reached in
> and took the tomato.
> "Can I get a Morton salt?"
> I asked trying to stall.
> Daddy reached
> into his pocket
> and handed me
> the one I'd left on the porch.
>
> He covered the trash can.
> Crossed his arms.
> He was going to watch
> and make sure
> I ate every last bite....
>
> and I did...
> slowly and reluctantly,
> but I finished.
> I didn't bother with the salt.
>
> When I finished
> Daddy held out his hand
> for the salt shaker.
> "Now go wash
> your hands and face."
>
> My 'eye' appetite
> shrunk considerably
> that afternoon
> never to return.
>