Growing boys. There’s just nothing like them. Having raised four of them, I speak from the voice of experience.
I happen to know, firsthand, that they like to wrestle and brawl. They will spar over the last glass of juice, and they love to throw down on the front lawn for no apparent reason. ’Tis the nature of the beast.
Young men can make a contest out of almost anything. A game of football can be played most anywhere, and they think nothing of dribbling a basketball in the kitchen as they back their hind side into their mother and tell her to “box out.” Been there, done that. Oh my, and how growing boys can eat. I have seen them devour a pot roast, conquer a mountain of potatoes and wipe out a king-sized platter of watermelon — and that’s before the meal is served!
Yet, I stand at the ready. I regularly use a Dutch oven, my favorite skillet is the size of a feed trough, and I have been known to use a canning pot to whip up a batch of chili. Why, it’s one large cooking vessel after another around here. In fact, unless we are boiling a mouth guard, my saucepans rarely see the light of day.
I buy in bulk, measure by the gallon and serve with a shovel.
I am quite a sight at the grocery store, too. Most times I need enough meat to give the beef industry a real shot in the arm.
Not wanting to ignore the values of nutrition, I then swing by the produce section and clear the racks.
The freezer section always trembles to see me coming, and I have been known to relieve the bakery of every whole grain bun in sight.
Even when it isn’t Christmas, I am reminiscent of the Grinch with his overloaded sleigh as I push my heaping cart up to the registers.
I then haul the bounty home, and as I unload the car, I am most often met with a hungry crowd that devours as they unpack and then proclaim mere hours later — and I quote — “There’s never anything to eat around here!”
Although I have fed big crowds of local youth and am quite familiar with their eating habits, I’m not sure I have ever seen a young man put away quite as much food as my very own Little Charlie.
Who, by the way, isn’t so little anymore.
He has been known to eat a full course on his way to the dinner table and devour a bucket of chicken on the way home. And, to the tune of Scooby Doo, that tall and skinny kid of mine puts down a stack of cheeseburgers that would rival Shaggy.
Charlie’s favorite meal comes from our local burger joint. The No. 4 is a triple cheeseburger with all of the fixings, and they ain’t stingy with the bacon. Add in a side of fries and a large lemonade to wash it all down, and he’s ecstatic.
Although this favorite meal certainly has its share of protein and the pickles have to have some nutritional value, I am quite certain the Baconator isn’t healthy. So we do our all-out best to limit its purchase and subsequent consumption to special occasions.
But Charlie is creative as well as persuasive, and I am here to tell you that the boy can make a special occasion out of almost anything.
“I cleaned my room,” he says with a smile. “How about we rejoice with a Baconator?”
“It’s my last Tuesday before school starts — it’s time to live it up.”
“It’s the first day of football, the last day of summer, the third Thursday of the month!”
Then there’s my personal favorite, “Gosh Mom, your hair looks pretty. How about we swing into the burger joint?”
Thanks to Charlie’s big eyes and awardwinning smile, we have been conned into going to the drive-thru for everything from winning a basketball game on the driveway to cleaning the kitchen without being asked.
How that child can eat like that and not have an ounce of fat on him, I’ll never know. But I’ll tell you this: If I had a metabolism like that, I’d come up with a special occasion at least twice a week.
Lori Clinch is the mother of four sons and the author of the book “Are We There Yet?” You can reach her by sending an email to [email protected].