How to Eat Fried Worms

July 7th, 2013 | Tags:

Yesterday, I experienced the fact that sometimes “no good deed goes unpunished.”

Our family had a busy holiday weekend, with my husband and 8-year-old son Patrick attending our local fireworks on Wednesday night, while three-year-old Luke and I stayed home, because he’s too young to be up that late.

Thursday night, the four of us went to our local outdoor amphitheater to see (or rather hear) the Goo Goo Dolls, who were too far away from us to be actually seen.

And Friday night we hosted our neighborhood’s rotating weekly party, titled Kiddies ‘n Cocktails, when we were all up to 10:30.

So yesterday we tried to have a mellow day, watching what we call “family movies” all afternoon. First, we watched Puss in Boots, perfect for Luke, but Patrick felt it was too juvenile for him, so he watched Star Wars: The Clone Wars on a different television.

Then we scrolled through our cable’s videos again and picked How to Eat Fried Worms, which we (or actually I) thought would be perfect for Patrick. But, oh how this movie is gross…

The main character, on a dare from the school bully, agrees to eat 10 worms in a single day, and each worm is cooked in various recipes–from microwaved with no seasonings to stirred up in a concoction whose main ingredient is hot sauce. I was hiding behind a blanket for the worm scenes, revolted. Then Patrick, cringing, announced he wasn’t going to watch anymore.

I thought he was simply trying to avoid the family movie to go play a video game on our computer, so I followed him upstairs, demanding that he return to our family bonding session. I suggested that he snuggle with me on the couch, as we watched our family movie, chosen specifically for his enjoyment.

Patrick came down the stairs, note in hand. My husband grabbed it from him, but Patrick announced that the note was for “Mom.”

It said, “I feel like you are torturing me.”

My husband, looking at me, said, “Well, he spelled ‘torturing’ properly.”

I was suffering through a kids’ movie, through the nauseating scenes of finding worms, cooking worms, eating worms, to connect with my eight-year-old son.

And he felt I was torturing him.

Like I said, no good deed goes unpunished. But, then again, I obviously shouldn’t be the one defining the good deed. If I’m trying to bond with my 8-year-old, he should be the one choosing our activity.

Lesson learned.

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