True Confessions: Golden Arches

From Devil and Egg

It was probably inevitable.

At some point after I had children, I’d decided that I would never take them to McDonald’s.

I knew they would be ushered though the Golden Arches at some point in their young lives—this is America, there’s one on every block—but I wasn’t going to be the one to do it. Not their mother.

And it’s not like I’ve never enjoyed a Big Mac and fries. I have. Many times. But that was before I saw movies like Supersize Me and read Michael Pollan and learned more about what kinds of questionable ingredients are put into the high calorie, high cholesterol food that they serve.

It’s one thing for me to dine there if I so choose, but to get my own kids hooked on the nuked burgers, squishy buns, addictive fries…that place would have them at “Happy Meal”.

And it wouldn’t be their fault because the place is a child’s dream; a destination that serves both cheap plastic toys and dunkable fried foods. As a kid there was no better birthday party invite than one that included a meal at McD’s.

But one can only imagine the reaction I’d get at the bus stop if instead of throwing a disco tea party for Belle’s upcoming 6th birthday party, I hosted the event at the McDonald’s in the strip mall down the road…I’d be a pariah. (And do they even have birthday parties at McDonald’s any more??)

But then came yesterday.

I picked Conor up from pre-school at midday (where he is supposed to eat lunch but sometimes boycotts the menu) and we went on some errands, and it was pouring rain out, and he was saying he was hungry, and I had exhausted my supply of fruit leather snacks.

His pleas for food were getting louder and louder, but we were a half hour from home.

And then I spotted it: across the puddled parking lot, only a few paces from Michael’s craft emporium (where I was searching for a pumpkin carving kit).

No one would need to know…

We went inside and Conor immediately spotted the Happy Meal display, went over to it, and started tapping on the display, trying to get into the toys inside.

I ordered him the Happy Meal with chicken nuggets, apple wedges (healthful option!) and a chocolate milk.
I got fries and a Coke.

When we sat down I could feel the first pangs of a guilty conscience (”what are we doing here?!”) and considered hustling us through the meal, in an attempt to pretend like it never existed. But then I decided to embrace the experience–we’re here, I thought, so let’s do this!

Conor held up a pale nugget and called it a “baby chicken”, and “cute” and then dunked it into some ketchup and gobbled it up.

Then he drained his chocolate milk. Ate a few apple wedges. And located the Astro Boy action figure with the spring-loaded dart dart. It was love at first sight. He proceeded to aim the projectile at his eyeball (”Conor, not at your face!” OK Mommy, no face.”) before shooting it across the room. Do they even test these toys for safety?
Once we had satisfied all that is unholy in our gullets, Conor leaned back in his plastic chair, turned to me, and said, “Mommy, this place perfect.”
Then I cleaned of his ketchup stained cheeks and we got the heck out of there–Astro Boy came with us.
So I need to know: Do you take the fam to McDs? What is your guilty fast food destination? Should I never take him back?—Caroline

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