guac final

The narrator shares their complicated history with guacamole, starting from when they were in second grade. They felt different from their classmates because their school lunch lacked colorful fruits and vegetables. They became aware of their class difference and developed a dislike for avocados and guacamole. In high school, they avoided certain foods due to a control issue and a desire to be smaller. However, with help and healing, they overcame their narrow thinking and now embrace avocados and guacamole as symbols of love and enrichment in their life. They enjoy eating guacamole at Mexican restaurants, making it with friends, and cooking it for themselves. Guacamole represents independence and the ability to make choices for oneself. The narrator realizes that love and enrichment are not dependent on size or appearance. A complicated history with guacamole, a self-portrait. Guacamole, noun, a dish of mashed avocado with chopped onion, tomatoes, chili peppers, and seasoning. Guacamole is a traditional Mexican dip that can be eaten at a restaurant, shared with friends, or prepared and enjoyed independently at home. Like most normal people with good taste, I enjoy avocados, and especially guacamole. This hasn't always been the case. I fervently marched into my second grade classroom on the first day of school, propelled by my will to succeed. On top of the world, it was my second year at this school and I was determined to make new friends. The school was large and daunting in its scale compared to my own 4'5 height. School was my escape. At home, I was faced with a single mother who was clouded by her own darkness. No other outlet to take out her frustration on, but at Marshall Elementary School, I was a new person. Shiny and brand new. I set out on my friendship quest in many areas that first day, but I knew the real money maker would be this cafeteria during lunch. The cafeteria teemed with life like a shallow pond. I felt hopeful I would find my way. The free and reduced lunch program seemed to age me into my 70s. By the time I had finally faked my way through the busy line, there seemed to be no place to sit. I managed to find a spot with a group of girls from my class, although this was almost 50 years ago, I still remember the looks exchanged and the banter to be had about my school lunch. They whispered in a precarious way, like I was going to suddenly sprout another head like an evil folktale. All the other girls had brightly colored lunch boxes packed to perfection by their caring family members, and the substance on my plate matched the color of the gray cafeteria floors. Since I had known no other lunches, I loved my plate of gruel. It converted me like my favorite song. My school lunch covered the basics, and for that, I was grateful. However, I did wish for some sugar here and there. Thanks, Michelle Obama. The contrast that became the most apparent to me between my plate and these pristinely packaged home lunches was the lack of produce. These girls had bananas, apples, oranges, and even the holy grail, cotton, candy, grapes. I didn't know food could be so vibrantly colored. Produce was expensive, so the chances of finding something that had come from fresh from the ground in my house were slim. One day, a friend of mine sauntered to our communal lunch table and whipped out her princess lunch box. She then revealed something I had never seen before. It was green and chunky, and frankly, it looked like vomit. I remember sticking a finger out with a juvenile shriek, what is that? All the girls laughed at me. They couldn't believe that I had never heard of guacamole or even avocados. I wanted to smack them against their hard heads and say, does it look like the free and reduced lunch program is handing those out? That was the moment I became aware of my class difference from the rest of my peers, and since then, avocados have been a rich people's food. That was my first bone to pick with guacamole. One large Haas avocado contains 322 calories and 28 grams of fat. You could have told me that an avocado contained the potion to perfect health and a million dollars, and 16-year-old me would still rather die than consume that. I spent a decent portion of my high school career convincing myself I just didn't like certain foods. They just weren't for me. This included, but was not limited to, pizza, ice cream, french fries, pasta, sugar, and mostly anything that contained carbs. The day I had an avocado on my salad, I entered its name into my MyFitnessPal app cautiously and routinely and discovered the spine-chilling crime I had committed. 322 calories for that? Are you kidding me? My entire cross-country practice was just a shout into the void if I was going to consume 13 whole pizzas, one avocado, after it was over. I had never felt such searing self-reproach. Avocados and guacamole had entered my hit list once again. I knew my aversions and distaste towards certain foods were fueled by more than just personal preference. I had a serious control issue and thought that I could only experience love and enrichment in my life if I was smaller. This kind of narrow and obsessive thinking hindered my everyday life, but with a lot of help and healing, I triumphed. Many seasons have come and gone from the beginning of this narrative to now. I am an independent and successful 21-year-old student at the University of Oklahoma. Avocados are not just for rich people, and love and enrichment are meant for you at any size. The girls at your lunch table won't always laugh at what you bring, and will actually applaud you for who you are. I now see guacamole in several areas of my life. I love to venture out to a bustling Mexican restaurant with my friends on a Sunday, filled to the brim with a mix of severely dehydrated college students and churchgoers. It's a toss-up of which of these identities we will claim that Sunday. I love when we take apart our weekends and share the good and the bad over some chips and dip. I love when my friend Abby drags me by the scruff of my neck to the store with her for guacamole ingredients to watch the big game. I love the independence I feel when I'm cooking dinner for myself and decide on just straight-up guacamole because that's what I wanted, and I have the authority to do that. Guacamole isn't always guacamole, and can be a metaphor for many other things. The love I feel in my life now does not come at a cost or need to be met with an exchange that is whole and dynamic.