In An Attempt to Eat

“Ma? Can I go watch TV now?” I would ask at the dinner table.
“Only after two more mouthfuls,” my mom would sternly answer.
I would obey, gulping down the two mouthfuls, and look at her with watery eyes, pleadingly hoping she would let me go. She would sigh with frustration and say, “Fine, you may be excused.”
That was when I was about two or three years old. I was this skinny, little kid who was always whining at breakfast, lunch, or dinner. My most miserable time was mealtime. I never enjoyed eating as a child, except when it was chocolate candy or when I was almost dying of hunger. Being the first-born child, I got to be my parents’ guinea pig. My mom got this idea from a book that kids should be fed only when they’re hungry. This way they won’t take in more calories than necessary. It’s supposed to be an effective way of preventing weight gain. So my mom only fed me whenever I was hungry, which was not very often. She even tried grinding the food to make it...