I was ten when it happened...the day I stopped eating sandwiches. It was a warm day in June on a Sunday afternoon. My mother just finished making dinner for our family and setting the table. She called my family together. My family consisted of me, my three older brothers-Joey, James, and Joel-my mom Trudy and my dad Dennis. Normallly, we liked having dinner together, but this one particular day was different from the rest. When we sat down at the table together, we noticed our usual Sunday dinner was...less. No one else said anything but I did. "Um, mom...what's this??" I questioned without shame. All three of my brothers looked at me as if I was crazy. My dad just remained silent. My mother glanced at me and then back down at the food on her plate. "What does it look like? It's a ham sandwich. Now stop being picky and eat." she said as he picked up the sandwich and ate it slowly. My other family members did the same, not saying a word about the lack of a meal we were given. I was apalled on the other hand. I couldn't believe our usual, fulfilling meal was replaced with a mere ham sandwich that lacked cheese, mustard, or mayonaise. It was just a thin piece of ham stuck between two slices of bread, which, in my opinion, looked rather stale. I frowned, pushing the plate back as if I would get sick or something if I took one bite of it. My mother looked up, frowning as well. "What? This food not good enough for you? Eat it or starve." she said sharply. I grunted, getting up from the table gladly and going to my room. I laid down on my bed, staring up at the ceiling. I couldn't believe we were being subjected to such a measly meal. I was just too upset about it. I even went to sleep angry.

The next day, I had to get ready for school. When I came down to pick up my lunch, I was disgusted to figure out it was the same, nasty sandwich from the night before. My mom apparently found it funny to wrap it up nice and tightly and place it in my lunchbag. I looked at her as if she as joking. She grinned at me slightly, which let me know she wasn't. "..But mom..." I whined. "No buts. Have a good day at school." she said, pushing me out towards the bus stop. When I got to school, it only got worse. At any chance I could get, I tried to trade my sandwich to any willing taker, but no one would trade. And during lunch, everyone avoided me. I was given the nickname "Pushy Hammy", and my name's not even Hammy! It was like I was plagued to forever have this grotesque sandwich in my possession. But although things looked grim, I refused to give in and eat the disgusting sandwich.

I got home that afternoon, complaining to my mom about the sandwich and how I wanted to just throw it away, but she wouldn't let me. I didn't understand why she was giving me so much beef from a pork sandwich. I was starting to lose my mind. But it didn't stop there, oh no...it only got worse. Later that night during dinner, my mother tormented me with the command to eat my ham sandwich for dinner since I didn't eat it at lunch. I protested frantically, whining that I didn't want it and it was starting to get more stale. But she wouldn't have it. She ignored my cries and pleas and demanded I not waste food and eat it. I refused yet again. I left the sandwich on my dinner plate and went to bed yet again hungry.

I was going insane. For two days already, I had starved myself so I wouldn't have to eat one ham sandwich. I got up the nexxt morning, my mom having packed the sandwich in my lunchbag yet again. I couldn't stand it. This sandwich was ruining my life and it wasn't even a real person but food! I then thought of just throwing the sandwich away at school. Afterall, my mom wouldn't know, right? Well, I was wrong. When I tried to throw it away in the garbage, my teacher caught me and stopped me from doing so, threatening to call my mom about wasting food and starving myself on purpose. I just couldn't win! This disgusting sandwich just wouldn't leave my side for anything.

Days went by, and I still wouldn't eat the sandwich. It was getting so bad that my father was now begging my mom to just let me eat something else. But my mom wasn't having it. She said that if I wanted to eat other food, then I would need to eat what I was given as food first. I had reached my point. I gave in out of insanity. After a week, I finally gave in. I grabbed that nasty sandwich wrapped in the same plastic wrap it had been in for a week, put the bread to my lips, and chomped down hard. The bread was so stale I thought for sure my teeth would fall out. And the ham...ugh. I don't even want to talk about it. Finally, after five days of suffering, I ate the dreaded ham sandwich that haunted me. But, followed by my triumph was an upset stomach and two days missed of school, and on the days my class had its fieldtrip to the zoo. So, in the end, I lost the fight. I had eaten the sandwich just to be plagued by it literally. But what bothered me more was why my mom was so bent on me eating it and why she made it in the first place. "Becuase, you need to learn to appreciate food, no matter how small it is." she explained. "But mom..why didn't you make your usual Sunday dinner? Were you really out to get me?" I questioned weakly, my stomach hurting badly. My mom smiled and then laughed. I blinked, wondering what was so funny about my question. She then replied. "I just didn't feel like cooking. The ham sandwich was just something quick to make so you guys would have food in you before going to bed." I blinked and then felt my stomach churn roughly. Here I was, suffering from the effect of my old ham sandwich I ate, all because my mom didn't want to cook. Indeed, I had been played, like a fiddle...I had been the victim of the ham sandwich...