Being the youngest of five boys, I had never been the biggest before, not even close. So I never really enjoyed roughhousing until Chris came along. As my wife, Leslie, said, we often visited Ted and Cathy when Chris and Matt were very young. When they reached about four or five years old, our visits always included the very physical game of “vegetable chopping,” which evolved over the years and which seemed a great way to burn off the seemingly boundless energy that Chris ALWAYS had.
I don’t recall how it all started, but it evolved into salad making. We would arrive after a long trip and within five minutes I’d stretch and yawn and say “wow, after that long drive I’m super hungry for a big salad.” I’d look over at Chris and Matt; their eyes would get HUGE and they’d get these expressions on their faces that I’ll never forget. Sort of like sheer terror mixed with sheer delight.
I’d snag them both by the arm or leg, drag them into the living room, and introduce them to the rug, piling them on top of each other. “Well, we’re going to need to chop up some carrots,” I’d say, using both my hands like a karate chopping-style massage. Chris and Matt, of course, would pretend they were being tortured, with overly dramatic facial expressions. But oddly, neither of them would run away. “Now we’ll need some lettuce, but it’s better to tear it than to cut it,” I’d say, and proceed to tear off their arms and legs while making ripping sounds. “How about a head of cauliflower?” Chris might offer, after which I’d tear off his head.
Suddenly both of them chimed in with ingredients they’d clearly been saving up. “What about shredded cabbage” or “How about some boiled eggs?” I’d follow their suggestions to the letter, and we usually ended by mixing up the salad and dumping it into a bowl, a process that required the two of them becoming entirely tangled up with each other and getting repeatedly stirred about. I now see why French Chef Julia Child was always out of breath.
Roughhousing had never been such a delight for me and even now, 30 years later, when making a salad I think back fondly on those human salad-making sessions when I’d terrorize two young children and chop them within an inch of their lives.
