Today I forced A to watch television. Yes, it felt sinister. Yes, I will probably grow to regret it. But I have never seen a kid with zero interest in the television beyond banging indiscriminately at the buttons on the remote control and touching the screen to watch the colors change under the press of his little fingers. I finally dialed up some Thomas and Friends on Netflix, hoping it would catch A’s interest given his unwavering obsession with “machina” (cars, trucks, trains). This kid needs more motivation to learn English than wanting to understand Mommy and Daddy as they beseech him to eat a slice of apple.
His attention was certainly captured by the opening sequence of trains. “Machina!” he cried. “Mommy, machina! Mommy, mommy!” I love how he assumes I will be just as excited as he is. He laughed at the faces on the trains. He was momentarily enthralled by scenes of the trains racing along the tracks. But then the narrator started spieling the storyline and he lost interest, wandering over to his matchbox cars. I picked him up and put him on my lap, pointing enthusiastically at the screen. I could not believe I was force-feeding television to my child.
A gradually got into it, watching Thomas and Friends speed down the tracks and otherwise dally in the train yards. But he wasn’t at all concerned when I turned it off. Which is good, because my mind was numb.
Another breakthrough: Peanut butter. Peanut butter! I gave up trying to coax him to taste just a little bit of red pepper, a single pea, a bite of cheese and fell gratefully upon the tried and true last bastion for parents of picky eaters: peanut butter. When I put a spoonful of it on his plate, A turned his head away, pointing at it with dismay. Then he sniffed it, like he does everything we give him. Finally he accepted a little taste and his face exploded with joy. He liked it so much he made me say the name over and over again as he repeated: “pu-na-bud-a.” He dunked pieces of banana in it, and then slopped it all up with pieces of bread, like American-style injera. It made his day, and thus, it made my day.
