Rasin the Stakes

I hate raisins.

It all started when I was ten years old. I went to a sleep away 4H camp for a week with my elementary school up in NY. We lived in cabins, hiked through the woods, learned about poisonous leaves and swam in lakes. I felt like Pocahontas! Only, you know, not wearing a sarong.

The staff forced us to eat healthy meals each day. My standard favorite of chicken nuggets and macaroni and cheese was sadly not on the menu. Instead, we had meals that featured each food group - each level of the food pyramid. My mom never forced healthy meals on us. Sure, we had salad, fruits, and vegetable, but never every night and never all in the same meal. She'd coax my brother into eating broccoli by dipping it in fattening cheese. She'd give me apples with caramel. It worked, it really did.

For dinner every night at the camp we were forced to eat five raisins because for some reason the staff was convinced that they would lead to long life and healthy eating habits. (They were raisin pushers. )Having never had one before, I was curious, unsure. I popped the wrinkled things into my mouth and started to chew. After a few minutes I had the reaction that every ten year old at a sleep away camp fears - I had to throw up. I ran, RAN to the bathroom as quickly as possible and deposited my dinner into the toilet.

Raisins were not my friend. The same thing happened the next night.

I tried to convince my teacher that I couldn't have the raisins, that they made me sick. Since I had no doctor's note nor parents note, she didn't believe me. So the next night, sitting at the table, I learned the trick many kids used when pressed to eat disgusting foods like liver and onions - I hid the raisins in my napkin. Every night after that I did the same.

It's been fifteen years since I've eaten a raisin.

Today a co-worker gave me a delicious looking oatmeal cookie from the cafe two stories below my office. Seeing the black spots, I questioned what they were. "Chocolate chips," she said nonchalantly. They were buried, so I didn't really question it. Of course they weren't chocolate chips. They were raisins.

I waited for the vomit.

And waited.

I was that 10 year old again, gripping a brown cafeteria table, surrounded by happy faced campers. No one knew why my eyes were so big.

The vomit never came. Although I survived eating the one bite of raisin polluted cookie, I didn't want to tempt my luck. I quickly got rid of it and drank at least a bottle of water. Knowing I can survive them is nice, but I'm quite certain I'll continue to stay away. Memories of laughing 5th graders haunts me. Plus, they're just so...wrinkled.

(coincidentally, another raisin related post here!)