Okra brings out the giggles - now
Steve Martaindale

It was the prospect for moments like this that, a year ago, my wife and I moved to be near our daughter and son-in-law for the arrival of our first grandchild.

I had the opportunity to introduce Charles to okra last weekend. OK, to be perfectly honest, I think he may have eaten okra before. If so, it still did not diminish the experience.

The early evening was rare enough in that it wasn't raining and we decided to eat outside. It's not so much that the weather was comfortable - it was still hot and sticky - but it is so much easier to clean up after a baby's meal when you can just hose down the picnic table and let nature's sanitation crew take care of the scraps.

Leah was still preparing the final elements of the meal when she handed me Charles' plate and directed us outside. I plopped him onto the middle of the table and placed in front of him the selection of chicken and okra.

After removing his heel from the plate, I moved the food farther away.

We already knew that Charles loved chicken, so I decided to start right off with the new stuff and handed him a piece of fried okra. Following only a moment's perusal, he put it to his mouth and bit off a piece.

Now, you are as aware as I am that okra is a much-maligned vegetable. Maybe it is the slightly strange appearance of the elongated, ribbed food. More likely, it is the large seeds found inside. When boiled or steamed, it is slimy and maybe some people find that unappealing. Some may simply not like the way it tastes.

Personally, it is one of my favorite foods. Even the many hours spent as a teen cutting okra and putting up with the stinging effects of the plant failed to diminish my love for eating it. That is one reason I was so interested in Charles' reaction.

He bit into that first piece of okra, turned to me and giggled. Outright giggled. Then he pumped his arms up and down the way he does when he's excited. Then he reached for more.

Mission Okra was a rousing success.

Leah arrived with the final dish and added squash to his plate. We already knew that he liked squash and he began dividing his attention between the two vegetables, neglecting the chicken. A couple of times, we handed him a piece of poultry and he not so respectfully declined. It was as if he said, "I'm familiar enough with chicken; let me try more of this okra."

And he was still giggling.

Like all of us, he will lose that at some point, that habit of being thrilled at the smallest things. He will become accustomed to his food.

He will no longer giggle when he samples a new dish.

The boy is also on the verge of full-fledged walking now. He probably could, but doesn't realize it yet. We had him taking a step or two, but the habit is still to hit all fours when he wants to get somewhere. His grandma said to him, "I'm ready for you to start walking, Charles."

I fear rushing to that day. Time passes oh so quickly. He will be walking soon enough and talking. And giggling less.

It is my hope, though, that he will continue to find joy in little things, much like his mother has. And I hope to be there for some of them. Even if he is no longer giggling about them.

Steve Martaindale is a self-syndicated columnist. Write him at penmanmail-steve@yahoo. com.