The banana story…
To know me, is to know the banana story. I am a survivor of a lot of things, child abuse (not at the hands of my immediate family at home), I am also a survivor of domestic abuse as an adult, on more than one occasion. Emotional, physical, you name it, and I’m also a survivor of bananas.
I never wanted to disappoint my family as a child, it was of the utmost importance at this tender age of like 4 or 5 that I never disappoint. One morning having breakfast with my dad, he’s cutting up a ripe golden banana to go on his cereal and decides that he is going to share the other half of his banana with me. After all, we had figured out for some mythical reason, I had NEVER had a physical banana until this age, I have had baby food, banana candy, banana flavored pudding, but not an actual banana.
So, I start chewing up the banana. He asked me if I liked it, and I nodded my head, he told me to, “Hurry up and finish.” so we could retire to the garage, so I could color and he could work on his racecar. I crammed the rest of the banana in my mouth, grabbed my crayons and coloring book and headed out the door. Again, like I said, to know me, you have to know the banana story, because it was the QUIETEST, I have ever been in my entire life, until I started being swallowed up by my demented bliss in my 40s.
Vividly I remember, that day I had chosen to color a lion’s mane in my coloring book rainbow in color. Bible study we had learned about the coat of many colors. I especially loved Dolly Parton when she sung her song about said coat. So the rainbow mane was born that day. I’ve always been a fan of rainbows and Rainbow Brite and Strawberry Shortcake, that will explain my hair colors that change with my every whim. I wanted to have all the colors, all the time.
I sat there, with that banana in my mouth, gagging, my mouth filling with spit. I tried to swallow several times, only to find the gagging made my eyes water, and then I couldn’t color. I don’t know how I felt a comfortable point, but for FOUR ENTIRE HOURS, I held that banana in my mouth, as my dad hastened on with his work. Until it hit him, he came over to check on me, “Misty, are you okay?” I nod my head, “Are you sure? You haven’t said a word for hours.” Again I nodded, then gagged. “Open your mouth. What is in your mouth.” To which my eyes welled up with tears as I start gagging as I stick out my tongue full of mashed bananas. “Spit it out for pete’s sake child!”
You will never learn patience, or the importance of communication, unless you have held a banana in your mouth for four hours. Trust me, at a very tender age, I learned it was even more important to be able to communicate your needs and the needs of others that day, and a great deal of patience on being rescued in a most dire situation.
As you can see, because of bananas, I had the patience to stick to my guns with my illness, and continue to fight every step of the way, even in darkest moments of me not being able to communicate very well. Even though I’m not really allergic to bananas (it’s just a texture violation), I will whole heartedly tell you I am. I even tried to eat bananas while pregnant, ripe, green, it didn’t matter… it’s instant nausea to me. However, I can make a badass banana cake, banana muffins, banana bread….just not consume a raw banana.
ALLERGICTO YOURBULLSHIT 