I’ve come to terms with the fact that my children have American accents. It was inevitable, unless we kept them from contact with the outside world forever. But this is much worse: I’ve just discovered that they like Hershey’s Kisses. Hershey’s Kisses are little individually wrapped blobs of that stuff the Hershey company presumes to call chocolate but the rest of the civilized world knows is cheap brown soapy stuff that coats your tongue with blech and leaves a distinct aftertaste of barf. They clutter up the bottom of Halloween booty bags, and teachers like to give them out for a job well done or a week finally finished. (In direct contravention of county regulations, which state that food is not to be used as a reward in school, I’ll have you know.)
Anyway, both my children, who have rejected the Hershey’s component of s’mores many times in the past, told me today that they like Hershey’s Kisses. I am verklempt. I am horrified. We tried, we really did. We told them from the start that (non-American) Cadbury’s is the only good stuff. That German or Austrian chocolate is quite acceptable. That Irish cows make the best milk, which makes the best chocolate. That the plastic-looking stuff in the brown packets with the silver writing is an abomination in the eyes of the lord and every right-thinking cocoa-lover on the globe. I never even have it in the house.
Maybe that’s where we went so horribly wrong. Maybe by excluding Hershey’s from our lives we made it desirable. Maybe it seemed exotic and thrilling just because it was eschewed. (But never chewed.) Maybe eating the bad chocolate is just another step up from not eating your vegetables – my parents think A, therefore I will, against all logic and decency, steer myself forcefully down the route of B, no matter what the personal cost.
Well, I just hope they learn their lesson. Easter’s coming up. They will reap what they have sown.