Didn't I Feed You Yesterday__ A Mother's Guide to Sanity in Stilettos - Laura Bennett [35]
There are parents with legitimate concerns, but I can’t help but believe that a few are needlessly jumping on the bandwagon. Every now and then I encounter a parent determined to have a child who is special in some way—any way—that keeps the child dependent. It’s a kind of Munchausen’s by peanut. Other kids are getting special attention, why not mine? I once knew a mother who had her son, Acheron, convinced that if he so much as looked at a peanut, he would instantaneously begin dying a torturous death by strangulation and suffocation. And, not to get off the subject, but who names their child Acheron? In Greek mythology, Acheron is the river bordering Hades. It is a branch of the river Styx, where the newly dead are ferried into hell. Basically, the kid’s name predicts a lifetime of woe that ends in misery, and his mother was going to make damn sure the prophecy came true.
She dragged Acheron around to allergists, looking for the evil airborne particles that would cause his untimely end. After endless rounds of scratch testing and other tortures, none of the doctors could find anything that he was allergic to, but his mom decided that she didn’t trust the science. Acheron was required to carry an Epi-pen around with him in a small backpack emblazoned with a red cross so he could save his own life in case of emergency—a challenge I find most eight-year-olds not exactly up for. She might as well have embroidered “Kick Me” on the little kit. Happily, no symptoms of death ever occurred, but Acheron lived in fear nonetheless—fear of peanuts and bullies.
One day Acheron’s mom called me to complain that my son had brought homemade chocolate chip cookies to school to share with his classmates. Also, she went on to tell me, I was guilty of buying her child a soft-serve cone from the Mister Softee truck on the way home from school the day I helped her out by covering pickup. Apparently Acheron had told her that he felt compelled to eat these treats because my son was his friend. I was trying to figure out why this boy would confess to his mother what he had eaten. Then she told me it was irresponsible of me to send homemade food instead of packaged food that had a label her son could scan for evil ingredients. Hang on, I put in. Homemade cookies do not come out of my house. The cookies were made from purchased gourmet dough, and there was indeed a label on the container, and Alicia had checked it. I’m not out to kill your kid with my store-bought homemade nanny-baked cookies, I said. I then suggested that perhaps our children shouldn’t play together anymore; I have no problem with your child, I told her, but the way you’re torturing him is driving me nuts.
After a brief silence, the mom mumbled something between an apology and a plea for sympathy, asking me to reconsider, as my son was one of Acheron’s very few friends—no surprise. By that time I was spooning a lump of peanut butter into my mouth and wondering what would become of this child.
Why did this woman feel the need to unnecessarily traumatize her child? Did the thought of him being in constant mortal danger give her a sense of purpose? I have no problem refraining from dipping into the Skippy if doing that will save the life of a child, but do I have to take prophylactic measures against allergies that don’t exist? Ghost allergies? Ironically, science shows that exposure to peanuts in school-age children actually reduces the risk of allergies. Avoiding nuts out of fear becomes a self-fulfilling snack-time prophecy.
As if raising healthy children isn’t time-consuming enough, how do these moms find the time or energy to deal with crises that don’t even exist? Once we get them vaccinated, checked up, louse-free, de-pinkeyed, and straight-toothed, and have the occasional broken bone set, who has time for any more medical drama?
And why do these hypervigilant parents single out nuts?