If she weren’t a fictional character, I might think that both of my children had once been Scarlett O’ Hara in their former lives. Remember that scene where Scarlett, fresh from escaping the burning of Atlanta, returns home only to find that her beloved Tara is merely a shell of its former, glorious self? And remember how, after being told that the only thing left to eat was raw turnips, she goes out into the field, digs up a turnip, and, clutching it in her fist, declares to the heavens: “As God is my witness, I will never be hungry again!”? Well, substitute, “walking home from school” for “escaping the burning of Atlanta”;“granola bar with icky raisins” for “raw, dirt-covered turnip”; and “standing in front of the kitchen cabinet and whining” for “digs it up” and it would be like Scarlett O’Hara and my children were twins. Or triplets. Whatever.
The point is, that, for reasons I have yet to fathom (and therefore must have something to do with fictional Civil War-era heroines), my children can conceive of no greater threat to their happiness than the prospect of being hungry. This is despite the fact that, as far as I can tell, they have never actually even been peckish, let alone really hungry: in fact, any time they have ever gotten even remotely close to it (say, on the trip from the living room to the kitchen), they have been saved by the quick intervention and application of one of the approximately 7.3 million “snacks” we have on hand in car, house, and/or backpack at all times, upon which they fall ravenously like a lion on its prey.
Of course, by “fall ravenously” I mean “take two bites”; after that the over-packaged, over-priced piece of advertising masquerading as a few calories is tossed unceremoniously into the trash, at which point another attack of “hunger” pains drives them to the cabinets once again. In terms of frequency, only hobbits could possibly eat more often than they do, but when it comes to quantity the analogy is closer to a hummingbird. Regardless, however, of which analogy is more apt–hummer or hobbit–the truth is that, despite whines to the contrary, I highly doubt whether true hunger is something that they have ever actually experienced.
This is a great tragedy: to my mind, there are few things that are quite as delightful as drinking when you are thirsty, sleeping when you are tired, and eating when you are hungry. Not only that, but there is nothing like hunger to bring out the master chef in us all: without hunger (and poverty), how else would we have ever learned that ramen noodles can be “cooked” using nothing but lukewarm tapwater, or that Bacos and catsup on a Saltine can be a fine substitute for a BLT?
Sadly though, this may be something my children will never know; how could they, with all the juice boxes, “snack size” cracker packets and “fruit chews” (a barely disguised naked jellybean) that are always at their command? These are people who, twenty minutes before Thanksgiving dinner is put on the table, will scrounge around in the back of the refrigerator for a yogurt; who pack a snack for a two block walk to park; who ask “what’s for lunch?” at 7 o’clock in the morning and “what’s for dinner?” at 3 o’clock in the afternoon; who think that a thirty minute soccer game (of which they played all of ten) must be followed by twenty minutes of “snack.” These are people for hunger, as it were, has never even really been on the menu.
Come to think of it, I take back what I said about Scarlett O’Hara; after all, her catchphrase was “tomorrow is another day”; for my children, it’s more like “tomorrow is another buffet.”