I asked my two oldest daughters what I should write about this week. We were fresh off a day of fun. We went to lunch (nothing better than going to lunch with 4 children, that’s 4 kid’s meals you get to finish off!), spent a couple of hours at a park, came home and played a game, it was wonderful. I was sure they’d suggest I write about how great their dad was. Maybe they’d spin it toward how they want to marry a man just like their personable, playful poppa. Instead, they both said in unison, “Write about the apricots!”
I had shared the story about the apricots with them a few days earlier in a moment of weakness, trying to get them to laugh after someone had fallen off of something, or someone took something that belonged to somebody else. My wife has encouraged me not to try and calm the waters with Girl Scout cookies this year, which actually leaves more for me, so I felt a story was a nice change of pace.
So here goes. About 10 years ago I was working a desk job for a computer software company. I spent most of my days making phone calls and sending emails. Actually emails were quite new so I sent a lot of faxes. It’s funny to think that by the time I finish writing this column the fax will most likely be obsolete. For that matter by the time my kids are old enough to enter the work force email will probably be a thing of the past, too. We’ll simply transport ourselves as particles through the air to the intended recipient’s computer and tell them what we want to say in the cyber flesh. Actually that’s far too personal for upcoming generations, those who already think that the phone is simply a tool for the telemarketer.
But back to the story. I wasn’t a big fan of fruit in my early 20’s. My main source of fruit was from strawberry pop-tarts, and I only resorted to those when I couldn’t find chocolate fudge. I new I needed to eat more fruit and I would often buy some bananas or apples at the store and keep them on top of my grocery cart in order to hide the chips, cookies and ice cream that hid underneath. A week or two later I’d notice the tiny fruit flies in the kitchen and realize it was time to dispose of the fruit and return to the store to repeat the charade.
Well, one day a friend of mine brought in a bag of dried apricots. He suggested I try one. I had never eaten an apricot, especially not a dried one. It was so small that I thought even I could choke one down and feel good about consuming a serving of fruit. No doubt this would make me feel good enough about my diet to justify an extra scoop or two of ice cream later that evening. So I ate one. It was actually quite good and, feeling crazy, I ate another. I realized that I actually liked them! I asked my friend where he got them and he was kind enough to give me the bag, he said he had plenty more at home. What he neglected to tell me was that one dried apricot was the equivalent of one whole apricot.
So for the rest of the afternoon I was on top of the world with my newfound love of fruit. I ate these apricots by the handful, enjoying every one. When I left a couple of hours later I thanked my friend and showed him the empty bag. “You didn’t eat all of those this afternoon did you?”
“Yeah, isn’t that amazing?” I said. “I’ve never been a big fan of fruit but I could eat these all day!”
“You better hurry home, fast.” He said. “You realize that you just ate something like 20 apricots. You’ll be lucky to make it home before they hit you.”
Hit me? What on earth was he talking about? And 20 apricots, I’ve never eaten so much fruit in my entire life. I was going to eat 20 apricots every day from now on.
I made it about 10 minutes from the office, which is unfortunately about 10 minutes from home, before they hit me, and boy did they hit me. At first I thought my stomach had decided to exit my body through my belly button. Quickly my stomach then took an elevator down into my toes and then rocketed back up to my chest. I wasn’t sure what was happening but I new it wasn’t right. I drove the rest of the way home doubled over, barely able to hear the radio over the gurgling in my tummy. At this point of the story, at least when I tell it to my kids, I share with them that Daddy spent the next few hours on the potty chair vowing never to eat apricots again.
I’m not quite sure why my kids wanted me to share this story. Maybe it’s because it’s about the bathroom, and my wife constantly accuses me of introducing bathroom humor to the children via the various sounds that Dad’s, by parental law I might add, are supposed to teach their children, granted as a lesson of what not to do to impress future mates.
But the ironic twist to the story is that children truly do watch what their parents do, and, for better or worse, they mimic the behavior. Needless to say, that evening after sharing the story of the apricots, sure enough I broke out a bag and we shared in a unique form of bonding, gastrointestinal distress and all.
Tony Overbay of Lincoln, CA, is a Marriage and Family Therapist Intern practicing at The Place Within in Roseville under the supervision of Darlene Davis, MFT Lic # 40875. Tony can be contacted through his website at www.tonyoverbay.com or by emailing tony@tonyoverbay.com.
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