Curdled Milk

Eat everything that's put before you, was my mother's teaching, and she stuck to it firmly. Perhaps it had something to do with growing up in a large family during the last few years of the Depression, when limp noodles were the norm and white rice was a delicacy. At any rate, we were never excused from the table until we had eaten up whatever was on our plates.

We--as children always do--invented all sorts of ways to get away from that rule. Sometimes we asked to use the restroom and flushed the offending foodstuff down the commode. At other times, I finished eating first and crawled under the table to receive spoonfuls of vegetables from my siblings (I had the least amount of dislikes, it seems) who pretended to eat up their meal. Mommy was aware--as mothers always are--of what we were doing, I think, but she never let on that she knew.

One afternoon, as I once more crawled under the table to receive handouts from my sisters, I noticed...a cup...with a whitish-yellowish pudding-like substance in it...with a rather foul odor. I realized then it was a cup full of spoiled milk; I'd left it there after my last under-the-table escapade, and Mommy, disavowing any knowledge of my actions, had left it there (even while she wiped up the floor around it) to curdle! What could I do but take the mugful of putrid stuff to the sink and admit my crime? Children may be mischievous, yes, but Mothers can be "consternating," too!