302/365 06/20/2026

The mother fed the son. She fed him and fed him, piling food on his plate: burger patties and vegetables. Onion rings and fries. Scrambled eggs, hash browns, toast made from sunflower bread and spread with apple jelly. Roasted chicken with crispy skin and carrots. She loved the son, piled the food high, let him have double desserts. She wanted him to love her best. 

The father starved him just enough. The father stared at the son, watched him grow, decided somewhere in his hardened heart the boy would never be as tall as he. It would be an affront. Something he couldn’t stomach. And so he skimped on portions, made him no breakfast. Gave him food unseasoned and overcooked.