Growing up in a blended family was tough, but nothing prepared me for the allergy-induced food prison we lived in. My stepbrother has a severe dairy allergy and my stepsister is allergic to all seafood and shellfish. When we moved in together, our home became an allergen-free zone. As a kid I didn’t get it, but over time the strict rules wore on me.
My parents found one restaurant with no nuts, dairy, or shellfish. Every birthday dinner was there. The food was bland, and any suggestion of a different place was shut down with guilt-trips like, “Some families can’t even eat out, but sure — let’s bend over backwards because princess doesn’t like the menu.”
Each year my hope of a real birthday meal faded. I tried to be understanding, but I felt deprived and punished for something I couldn’t control. Then came my sweet 16 — and my parents booked that same place without asking me. I was crushed.
During dinner, my best friend secretly gave me a bit of seafood — and it was amazing, the first good taste in years. But soon after, my stepsister went into a severe allergic reaction. My hidden seafood had somehow contaminated her food. The panic, the epinephrine, the guilt — my sweet 16 turned into a nightmare.
I know what I did was wrong, but it wasn’t all my fault, right?