Neil O. Nelson

“There’s always room for Jell-O.”

I always thought my grandmother coined that phrase, seeing how often Jell-O appeared at our family meals.

She was big on Jell-O, my grandmother was.

Peach, strawberry marshmallow, orange, banana, mixed fruit and of course her favorite – lime Jell-O.

I hated them all. I was the only kid in town, apparently, who didn’t like Jell-O.

I was a marked kid. I had a target on my back wherever we went – weddings, funerals, picnics, family gatherings, even school.

“Oh, it’s your boy who doesn’t like Jell-O, we’ve heard about him. Poor boy. Have you considered counseling? Is he sleeping at night? The bathroom routine, everything OK there? No. 2 even?”

What’s the deal with Jell-O? I wondered. It’s not nutritious, it’s loaded with sugar and it’s not proven to cure migraines and stomach aches, my older sister told me.

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