The Extra Burger

I've figured something out--one of the really big questions in life: never have kids unless you're really hungry. I don't mean hungry metaphorically, like, hungry for the unconditional love and support you've signed up for. I mean literally hungry for all the food they won't eat.

I'll tell you how I came by this pearl of wisdom.

I was, after all, once a kid. When we stopped for Dairy Queen or Braum's ice cream cones on road trips as a family, my dad's cone would vanish in seconds and, soon after, he'd reach his hand back between the front seats.

"Let me have your cone," he'd say to my brother and me, "I'll take care of the drips for you."

Brandon and I always handed our cones up. We didn't want to make a mess.

But my dad wouldn't just take the drips. He'd take half the cone, laughing at our bewildered faces.

"Dad!" we'd whine.

"Brad," my mom would say, giving him a look.

"Okay, okay," he'd say. "Next time just the drips."

We used to call my dad The Disposal because of the way he disposed of the extra food on our plates at dinner.

Now that I'm an adult, I've seen the other side of things. Until a few weeks ago, I had never in my life eaten two burgers in one sitting. Back when I was in middle school, before fast food grossed me out, sometimes my brother would pick me up from soccer practice and we would go to McDonald's and order Big Mac meals. I ate that... and the fries and drink that came with it (yes, I know a Big Mac has, what, two or three patties? But still--it's only one sandwich). But I never ate two burgers because I never ordered two.

Then our friends Teresa and Bobby came into town with their children. We stopped at an In-N-Out Burger on our way to Muir Woods. I wasn't really hungry because I had already eaten most of their three-year-old daughter Julia's animal-shaped crackers. But I couldn't pass up a cheeseburger. Bobby ordered burgers for everyone--me, Tiffany, Teresa, Teresa's aunt who was traveling with them, Julia and their five-month old son Peter. Plus an extra burger.

"Who wants some?" Bobby called out as he and I walked over to the table with bags of fries and cardboard boxes of burgers.

We all took one. Except, of course, Julia who wasn't sure about hers and Peter who has no teeth (although he did stare knowingly at my burger as if already aware it was something he might like later on).

Bobby ate his and the parts of Julia's that were edible after she'd dismantled it and the extra one too. But that still left Peter's.

"Come on, Rebo," he said, sliding it down to me. "You've got room."

Well... did I?

It turns out I did--in my for-the-benefit-of-children stomach. You have one too. I guarantee it. And that's why I offer you this advice: work up a major appetite before you bring a child into the world.