RICHARD IRVINE
DOUBLE TROUBLE FOR A FIRST TIME DAD OF TWINS Childhood memories give plenty of food for thought
“You get what you’re given,” is a vaguely threatening phrase we’ve never used with the twins.
It’s something I remember as an answer to a variety of nutritional demands when I was a child. The general rule was you got hearty nutritious and healthy food, which you ate, or you went hungry.
In my mind, this shift in attitude partly explains the recent rise in obesity among reception year children to 10%, up from 5% in 1990.
I mentioned this to my dear mother, who has her own version of my childhood, occasionally different from my own.
“Ha, remember, you grew up in the Seventies and Eighties, when Pot Noodle and Angel Delight were considered gourmet,” she scoffed in a mocking way that surprised me.
“Very, very late Seventies I’d like to add, and I can’t remember you catering to fussy demands,” I countered in defence of my previously nutritionally perfect childhood.
“Emma and Thomas refuse to eat courgette in pasta sauce, so I have to pick it all out before they eat it,” I added to prove a point.
“Both you and your brother made me sieve fruit yoghurt to remove bits,” she countered.
I thought for a minute and felt a creeping sense of shame as I recalled demanding a smooth, overly sweetened yoghurt served in a bowl, devoid of strawberry chunks.
We then recalled how I’d partake in slices of white bread dipped in the roasting tray tin, which my grandad would add salt to, explaining it made it taste better.
The other day I added salt to mashed potato and was admonished by Victoria for attempting to kill everyone off by giving them high blood pressure.
And the fish and chip shop, along with the butchers, hold a special place in my heart thanks to a childhood spent in both. One for pork pies and the other for the free scraps, those deep-fried leftovers from the battered fish, which the frier would scoop from the pan.
Both of which you’d describe as a little fatty.
It made me think of Emma eating packs of butter from a breakfast buffet, once she’d finished her croissant.
Maybe our love of fatty foods hasn’t changed but I remember we were always out, running for miles, jumpers for goalposts and so on.
Again, there was a difference of opinion with my mother, who explained we were doing that, when she turned off the Sega Master System video games console and stopped us playing Sonic the Hedgehog.
All of which doesn’t help explain the rise in childhood obesity.
What it does show is I can’t trust my version of childhood, and my family genetics can’t be trusted when it comes to making a healthy choice.
I felt a creeping sense of shame as I recalled demanding a smooth, overly sweetened yoghurt served in a bowl, devoid of strawberry chunks