Jello
I worked in a restaurant for some time. It was a buffet all-you-can-eat type restaurant. I learned many things there. You could always tell who the good parents were; some kids left the restaurant clean, while others left half-covered in food. Sometimes I would go to clean a table that looked as if a child exploded at it.
Jello was the worst thing to clean up. You can’t get it off with a cloth, as it won’t stick very well; it’ll just smear all over the table. And if you get it on the floor it’ll end up getting smeared into the carpet. And God forbid you want to touch it with your hands, cause it’ll never come off. Jello was the devil.
Parents have the tendency to assume that any child that can’t feed themselves (i.e. if they’re three and under), would just love to have Jello stuffed down their gullet. Kids don’t like this, trust me.
I began telling, or rather preaching to parents, that Jello begins at home. You see, Jello is unlike any food on Earth. You have a small child that can’t eat solid foods, and think Jello fits that mould? No it doesn’t. Children know the difference. You stick Jello in their mouths and they will reject it like a tumour. Kids need to be trained to accept Jello as food, and it will take some time. Try putting yourself in the shoes of a one year old; put a small piece of Jello in your mouth and imaging it a wriggling worm – and try not to spit it out. Kids don’t eat worms (unless they’re trained – which is just bad, or at least unorthodox, parenting), and kids don’t eat Jello without proper training. That training begins at home.
Naturally, just like, say, potty training, children will take a while to adapt to Jello. But a good, persistent parent will keep at it. When the child can finally handle Jello, then it’s okay to let them out into the real world. Now you can come into my restaurant and feed them Jello – because they will eat it, not spit it out and play with it.
Jello begins at home.
The Chris Effect 
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