Be careful what you tell your children

Around age five I had a sitter called Patty Unger. My time under her care left me with two lasting attributes. The first is a small vertical scar on my left knee that was the sum of a tricycle, a steep grassy hill, and a wire fence. The second is a little more hidden.

Now, Pat had little patience for children. She was easily annoyed and therefore indifferent to our personalities and goings-on so she would try to avoid complaints and whining. In the Unger's house sandwiches were a very regular lunch item. As many children are opposed to crust it became necessary for her to select a child to willingly eat what the others would not - the completely crusted heel slices. As the most introverted and willing to please, the obvious sucker of the bunch was me. She would whisper to me "Eat the crust; it'll make you pretty." Having always seen myself as being on the ugly side of the fence, I was all too happy to eat the brown ends.

It didn't stop there, I truly believed they were better for you. Either they would make me pretty or were just generally healthier. For the longest time (until shamefully recently, in fact) I was convinced there was something special about the brown exterior of a loaf of bread. I've since realize that it's just the darkened exterior that results from the baking process and it actually have no special prettying properties. My disappointment was palpable.