White Pickles

Dear Amiya,

Someday you'll read this and be briefly (we can only hope) angry with us. You see, you've been eating these French pickles for a while now. Maybe a month. You used to hate them, but now you love them and whenever Daddy brings the jar out, you ask for them. We limit you to one or two because they're quite acidic and your little tummy sometimes rejects things that don't quite mix with your now-standard salami dinners. But Saturday night, we gave in quite simply because we were in awe.

You had eaten your two pickles and your salami and had moved on to happily munch on your chicken, noodles and even, oh little connoisseur that you are, your asparagus. Daddy went back for another pickle and you asked for more. We gave you a "white pickle." That's what we called it, my trusting child, but you almost didn't buy it. Almost. You ate it, said it was good but that it was like a tomato. Remember, Amiya, you didn't like tomatoes at this tender age. You knew something was up, but you couldn't believe that your own Daddy and Mommy would lie to you. Oh, the shame! Yet, you ate another one, saying it too was good. Those weren't really tear-drop shaped white pickles, Baby Girl. They were onions. Yes, we knowingly lied to you and fed you onions when you were expecting pickles. But you see, Amiya, you liked them. Onions can be good. Onions can be your friend.

Forgive us,
Mommy and Daddy