Canned tuna between slices of white bread mocking me because of my inability to determine how to eat around the offending food. The nuns began to notice me. At first one, who tried to cajole me. Then two discussing what to do. And then more. I remember staring at the white square on that plate with the almost indescribable color. I stared at the white bread like we were having a starving contest. I was determined not to lose.
A voice told me I had to eat it. But I stared and stared.
In one movement my hands rose up and swept the food off the table and onto the floor. I think I was testing an intricate logic puzzle. If I am not allowed to eat food off of the floor, as most children have been warned against since birth, perhaps I could override the demands of ingesting my food. The plate clattered to the floor and soon I found my face surprisingly close to it. The nuns had decided almost as quickly as I had that my logic was faulty. The floor was no boundary to their cruelty. My hands were pressed behind my back, my head was pressed to the floor and I was instructed to eat off of the floor.
Tuna fish is not improved when consumed at floor level.
Despite the aggression I was able to escape with only a few tainted nibbles of white bread. I was made to sit in the corner for the rest of the day.