I’m swallowing the beans of a Taco Bell enchilada when the nausea sets in.  Pausing, I glance at the table where yellow processed cheese congeals on 99 cent nachos.  I sit back and take a break from eating.

Across from me, dwarfed in the mustard-colored booth sits my six year old son, Jeb.  He eagerly devours his bean and cheese burrito, the refried sludge smearing on his chin.  Seated beside him is his father, Rex, dressed in an orange sweater and distressed jeans.  He, too, readily eats his assortment of pseudo-mexican food spread on the brown plastic tray before him. Read more