Food: Sex and my Grandma

It's always hard for me to be specific when talking about why I love food. Before this, it's something I'd never really thought of before. When I started writing this, I sat and tried to think. I came to the conclusion that, like most things, my relationship with food is modeled by those around me. And to be honest, I can't say that I find the question, "Why do you like food?" to be very interesting. Food is one of the few things that everyone has always had a relationship with, good or bad. If you were to ask me about a specific food, like Moon Pies, Fig Newtons, or rice and tomatoes, then I think it'd lead to a more interesting conversation. Or at least a situation where you'd learn more about me. My memories of food are waiting for my grandparents to fall asleep in the living room so I could sneak into the kitchen to eat way too many fig newtons. I'm jealous of these stories I read about people having this picturesque moment with food where they taste something and all of a sudden these fireworks start going off in their chest and feel like a new door has been opened inside their brain. I wish I had had a time in my life where I didn't know food, because then maybe I'd be able to appreciate these things more, and maybe be able to write a decent blog post about it. The truth is, food has always been there for me. There has never been a "before food" and an "after food". Some of my earliest memories are back at my grandma's house when it would be time to eat. There was a dingy laundry room connected to the dining room, and I'd open the door to walk down the two concrete steps facing the washer and dryer. I'd walk to the shelves in the pantry and get my booster seat, which was a faded mustard yellow color, no doubt passed down from generations of cousins. I'd go and sit next to my grandma, and she'd always feed me before she fixed herself a plate. This was the routine for longer than I'd like to admit, as I was probably 8 years old before we decided that I should start feeding myself. I miss my grandma, though. And I think I miss the way that these dinners felt for me. I think we all miss being cared for in that way, because it feels like we look up one day and everything changed. It's been ten years since my grandma died, and I feel ten years older, but at the same time I feel like I just woke up one day and the channel switched. When I was younger, I felt angry, I felt sad, but I never felt alone because there was always someone feeding me at the end of the day. But now I'm an adult, and there's no booster seat, and I only see Fig Newtons in the CVS when I'm trying to get shaving cream and a box of condoms. Everyone's lives are unique, but there are certainly aspects that are universal. There are moms, dads, love, hatred, sex, etc. What I'm trying to say is I think that food is almost like an emotion for me, and it's hard for me to talk about food because all of my emotions are twisted together and confusing me all of the time. But as long as I am living, it'll always be there.