Monday Madness – Too Much of a Good Thing

Posted on July 11, 2011


Have you ever experienced a repeat of something in your adulthood you should have learned from when you were a kid? After a night of very horrible heartburn received from over eating some pretty decent banana bread, I feel I should kick myself for not remembering the last time I made a banana desert. Damn you bananas and your trickery!

I was always the mild-mannered kid growing up. In a house of five kids, I was the one my parents rarely had to discipline. Maybe it was because my dad scared the shit out of me. He was the enforcer; the one my step mom would threaten with to reign in her children instead of the Boogy Man. When it was time to be punished, we were sent to retrieve Dad’s belt – the very item we all learned to fear – and hand it to him to deal out the spankings. We soon learned to wear multiple layers under our breaches and feign appropriate tears and wailing afterwards – unless he ‘accidentally’ missed the target and hit the thigh below a many-underwear-clad rear-end.

Clearly my parents needed a break from the insanity of raising a full house. We got split into the four winds and carried off to enjoy a period at a relatives house. It seemed we behaved better when not instigated by a sibling. Who knew?

Because I was such a good and pleasant kid (note: geeky and awkward), I regularly stayed at my great grandmother’s house. Big Grandma was my step mom’s grandmother who was born in Mexico and moved to the United States to raise her three children. She and I got along great together. Since my mom taught me how to crochet as early as four, Big Grandma and I would spend many an hour crocheting together in her living room. Big yawn, I know, but what can I say? I had my imagination to keep me company while she spoke Spanish over the phone with a distant Mexican relative. (I always attributed this to the very reason I was able to pronounce Spanish so well even though I never spoke it)

One particular visit Big Grandma and I made a batch of homemade banana pudding. We labored over it for hours; cutting and mashing the bananas and making the pudding from scratch (she scoffed over the boxed stuff). I salivated for hours from the smells of our creation while it cooked, but I couldn’t have one single bite until it was all done and chilled. I watched the clock and waited for what seemed like days to finally enjoy the fruits of our labors. Then finally after we ate our dinner which I barely noticed, it was time for desert.

My eyes were much bigger than my stomach that night. Big Grandma only let me enjoy two bowls; even though she frowned and relented after my first. But I wanted more. I waited until she was asleep that night and snuck into the kitchen to enjoy my third bowl before going back to bed with a very full but contented stomach.

It didn’t last. Needless to say, it only took half an hour for my stomach to start roiling and gurgling. I was up the whole night with a sour stomach until the not-so-happy-ending in the twilight hours of the morning. I don’t think Big Grandma ever knew of my indiscretion. But honestly, she didn’t have to catch me for me to learn my lesson. It pretty much taught itself.

So I ask myself today why I didn’t remember this lesson when I over-indulged with the banana bread I made last night. Sometimes I think I was smarter when I was a kid than I am today.