Today, I’m thankful that our tastes can evolve over time.
My childhood home in Bergen County, New Jersey, was the epitome of ‘cozy.’ Our small abode in Cliffside Park, New Jersey, was a simple brick structure with a relatively small living room, dining room, and kitchen on the first floor, and three extremely tiny bedrooms with a single hallway bathroom on the upper floor. And, then, of course, there was the basement, which when we moved in was completely unfinished. However, after a few months of dedicated weekend support from my uncles, all of whom could have had a second career as professional handymen, the basement was transformed into a living space for my grandmother – affixed with her own bathroom, small kitchen, and a plethora of wood paneling (apropos for the 1970s). Eventually, after a few years, my grandmother moved into her own senior-living apartment several blocks away, and her prior space in the depths of our basement was transfixed into a play room, filled with toys, sporting equipment, and the crown-jewel of all basements – a billiards table. My brother, cousins, friends, and I spent endless hours in our newly-minted space, where we listened to Yankees baseball games on the radio, played a countless amount of 8-Ball pool, and mastered the artful game of Strat-o-Matic Baseball.
Life really wasn’t that hard.
That is, until my mother called us up for dinner, especially on either a Wednesday or Friday. You see, in our devout Greek Orthodox family, we ‘fasted’ from meat on these 2 weekdays, thereby keeping with a religious tradition my parents has learned at an early age. Frankly, I despised those nights because dinners invariably included some meatless version of lentil soup, okra, or, worse of all, spinach. Basically, as a young boy, I really detested spinach. I lamented every time my mom would make her famous dish of spinach and rice, known as spanakorizo. I would sit at the table struggling to swallow down every bite, much to the visible frustration and oft-verbal disapproval of my father.
Fast forward four decades, I realize my parents were really only trying to do what Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young (CSYN) had been advocating with their 1970 hit song, Teach Your Children. My parents were essentially trying to be excellent role models for their two sons, teaching them a healthy and pious lifestyle wherein one works hard, respects tradition (and its elders), and eats nutritional food. Interestingly, the band CSYN came together in late 1969, after Graham Nash decided on this day (in Dec 8) that he had enough with The Hollies. Just two days later, this British singer/songwriter joined up with two American musicians (David Crosby of the Byrds and Stephen Stills of Buffalo Springfield) to form the original cast of the folk band, Crosby, Stills, & Nash (CSN). A year later, they added a keyboard guru, the Canadian Neil Young, to form the illustrious CSNY. They played their second gig ever at Woodstock in August 1969, and less than a year later, CSNY released their first album as a foursome, entitled Déjà vu – which included the hit songs Woodstock, Our House, and, of course, Teach Your Children. Frankly, I still have déjà vu moments when I think back to that dinner table with a full plate of spanakorizo staring back at me.
Invariably, in those moments, my parents would make some reference (in Greek, of course) to a mundane childhood cartoon wherein the consumption of spinach was associated with superhuman strength: “Don’t you watch Popeye. He eats spinach, and it makes him very strong. If you eat yours, you will also grow to be a strong boy.”
I might have only been 7 years old, but I was smart enough to know that Popeye was no more than a fictional character on a silly TV show. Ironically, on this day (Dec 8), we celebrate the birthday of E. C. Segar, who created this lovable spinach-loving, pipe-smoking sailor. Basically, the premise of the Popeye cartoon show was always the same. Somehow Popeye would be hanging out with his gal, Olive Oyl (another possible reason my Greek parents would reference this particular cartoon), when invariably a despicable bully, Brutus, would come along and try to wreak havoc on their affair. Popeye would lose Olive, at least temporarily, until somehow, somewhere, someone would pour down a large tin can of spinach into his pipe. Miraculously, massive muscles would magically multiply on the body of our protagonist, and, in turn, he would pummel Brutus into oblivion. Usually, the spinach was provided by J. Wellington Wimpy, a financially strapped moocher with a penchant for hamburgers. Amazingly, the Popeye comic strip, which has been in existence since 1919, will celebrate its 101st birthday later this month. Even after a century, the comic strip is still going strong. New versions are issued every Sunday in syndicated newspapers, courtesy of Hy Eisman, a 93 year-old American cartoonist, who ironically enough still publishes the comic from his home in (yes, you guessed it) Bergen County, New Jersey. Sometimes, life really does come full circle.
But, here’s the best part of my story. Thanks at least in part to E.C. Segar's and Hy Eisman’s efforts, the world's (and my own) consumption of spinach has soared, and I'm a happier person for it. As an aging adult with more sophisticated tastes, I simply cannot get enough of spinach. In fact, if I ever have a choice to pick my vegetable at a restaurant, the leafy green vegetable that Popeye adores always tops the list.
So, in closing, I’m most grateful that my tastes have evolved over time. Now, please don't get me wrong. I still have retained many of the same cravings I had as kid. I still love my hamburgers as much as I did when I was 7. Come to think of it: If you wouldn’t mind, I will gladly pay you Thursday for a hamburger today.
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