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There's nothing more pitiful than a hungry, 15-year-old boy who can't chew his food.
I know because I've got one at home.
My older son completes a six-week recovery from jaw surgery tomorrow, and he is planning his first solid meal in a month and a half. He wants steak and big plate full of fried okra. He will wash it down with a quart of Powerade and a tumbler full of Mayfield vanilla ice cream.
I'm betting that his shrunken stomach will cry "mercy" before he cleans this feast away.
Last weekend, I caught him standing by the meat counter at Food City, deciding what cut of steak he wants for his celebratory "first meal." His surgeon told him to not start with a thick steak, so he was looking for a cut of meat that was only a half-inch thick but a yard wide. (Way to put that geometry to use, son.) To my knowledge this was the first time he had ever contemplated raw meat.
Poor thing.
For the last six weeks he has essentially been on an all-mush diet. Unable to chew because of lower-jaw surgery related to his orthodontia, he hasn't consumed anything more solid than applesauce. No mountains of broccoli. No buckets of chicken fingers or bottomless pizza buffets. As a result, he has lost about eight pounds of body weight from a frame that was thin to begin with.
He picked up a slice of pizza at a party last Saturday night and got it all the way to his lips before he remembered he couldn't chew it.
Dang it! That stings when you are 15.
Since the week before Christmas, he has been eating lots of soup, mashed potatoes, pulverized beans and crumbled Life cereal. Sometimes he's so desperate for calories that he snacks on Pixie Sticks, those little tubes of candy that are essentially straight sugar.
For the first couple of weeks after his surgery, his jaws were so swollen he could barely get one finger between his teeth. Even if he wanted to, it was hard to shove enough soft food through the opening to satisfy his teenage metabolism.
We went out shopping for pants last Saturday, specifically khakis with a 30-inch waist and a 34-inch inseam. (For reference, 34-30 is a common men's size, 30-34 is not.) It took us more than an hour in Northgate Mall to find britches that skinny. At 5-foot-10, 132 pounds, my son is shaped like a porch plank.
I suspect that once the industrial-strength rubber straps come off his braces, he will eat until he swells up like the Pillsbury Doughboy. But he practices soccer nearly every day, so any pudginess is likely to be shed quickly.
I've been interested to see how my middle-class son would react to even this small deprivation. He has been on this medical fast for about almost six weeks, but he hasn't whined or complained one bit. In fact, I'd say a little delayed gratification has been good for him.
A little taste of hunger is good for kids who have known nothing but abundance.
Meanwhile, that plate of fried okra tomorrow night will sure hit the spot.
Contact Mark Kennedy at mkennedy@timesfree press.com or 423-757-6645.