Ode to a french fry
Oh, french fry, dear, beloved french fry. I remember Mommy buying you, not once, but a million times. I remember the drive from the “M” to Ga’s house, and how Mommy and Ga would look at me in the rear-view mirror, waiting for me to take the plunge. I held the bag many times, but never looked inside. Then one day I remember touching one of you, and finally holding one of you in each fist. I then opened my mouth as wide as I could so you wouldn’t touch any part of me as I brought you toward my face once, twice, again and again. It was a few zillion more stops at the M before I could touch you with my tongue. Oh, salty slice of potato, once I started I couldn’t stop. I licked but wouldn’t bite, and by the time we got to Ga’s house, you were wilted in my hands. One day, I decided to take the plunge. I bit you. I ate the whole salty stick. But just one. And then I wouldn’t touch you again for months. Then I did again, by the zillions. I wanted you every day, and now we’re the best of friends.
Oh, beloved french fry, how do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
Entry filed under: autism. Tags: autism, eating issues, eating problems, fear of food, feeding therapy, food issues, high functioning autism, sensory integration, sensory issues, sensory problems, special needs.