"Why do I have to be like this?"
He was crying, with his head in my lap. Whim had bought some innocent-looking berry-flavored "Rice-Os" cereal the day before from the health section. They were not ok, but we figured it out the hard way. We were in the middle of a long, rough day.
I stroked his hair, buying time. I knew where this was going, but what else could I say. "Like what?"
"Why did God make me to have reactions when I eat additives, but other kids don't?"
I don't hate that his diet can be hard. It's worth it.
I don't hate the reactions, even though they're unpleasant. We weather them.
I hate that he sees it as something wrong with himself rather than something wrong with the food industry.
Kids like M are canaries in coal mines. His reactions are a magnification of what crummy food does to all of us.