By Icy Frantz
When I was young, I would sit planted at the dining room table, late into the evening, hovering over my dinner plate comprised of the remaining portion of my dinner.
Brussels sprouts.
I eyed those small, green, mushy rounds for hours – a stubborn standoff – with me wishing and praying for them to disappear…just not into my mouth.
Back then, I was not allowed to get up until my plate was clean, and so I waited, freedom beckoning me. Finally, I would surrender, swallowing those bitter bugger’s whole – hoping that I could ignore the assault on my taste buds and then washing them down with a cold glass of milk.
Growing up, I really liked food, everything except Brussels sprouts.
But here’s the thing about Brussels sprouts – they have made a glorious comeback. In today’s words, they have been rebranded. They have reinvented themselves.
Gone are the soggy cousins of the cabbage and, in their place, the wonderful menu staple that is the darling of almost everyone I know, including me.
“Let’s definitely get the Brussels sprouts.”
And with their rebirth comes learning.
In college, I wrote my senior thesis on the age-old question, “Can man change?” In it I presented the lives of C.S. Lewis and Bill Wilson (the founder of AA), two men whose own personal transformations have resulted in helping millions. And while it may be a stretch to compare a man to the Brussels sprout, my answer to the question I posed in my thesis – then and still today – is a resounding “yes.”
But it is more complicated than that.
With Brussels sprouts, we have seen big changes in the way they are prepared (thank God). The overcooked, boiled version has been replaced with the roasted, sauteed, air-fried, caramelized, flavorful side dish that is sometimes served with bacon and honey.
And while their new popularity has much to do with these external modifications, in the 1990’s, a Dutch scientist created a milder Brussels sprout, decreasing the bitter taste by eliminating certain chemicals. Chefs today are starting with a superior sprout.
Which brings me back to man and change.
Now, I am not talking about superficial changes – a new haircut or the loss of a few pounds. Those changes are temporary – hair grows back and weight is regained (which is a shame).
I am talking about the more profound changes – changes that are sticky because they spring from a permanent shift from within, like the sprout’s elimination of bitterness through chemical adaptations.
Sometimes these changes happen out of necessity – a doctor tells us we need to make a change or risk serious health consequences or, my favorite, change motivated by pain. And then, of course, there is change that materializes miraculously – a divine intervention.
Several years ago, I ran into my second-grade teacher. We caught up, and when it came time to say goodbye, she said something that shocked me.
“Icy, you haven’t changed at all.”
What?
Because even if she was talking about my appearance – which could have been viewed as a compliment – I most certainly do not look like my second-grade self. And I have most certainly matured from that young girl who smiled all the time and told the world that everything was just “fine.”
And maybe that’s it – change is better understood as growth: physical, emotional, and spiritual. Which doesn’t mean that we lose our essence completely (which is what I believe my second-grade teacher saw in me). And that growth happens mostly in baby steps – inches not feet, one day at a time, small wins (and sometimes small losses).
At my 40th reunion from high school, it was fascinating to see what had become of my former classmates. I was drawn to, as most of us were, a man dressed in a leather jacket. He was cool, confident, and comfortable in his own skin.
I had no idea who he was until a friend said, “Remember the short, nerdy boy who hung out at the school’s radio station?” Well, not really, but I went with it. This once shy and awkward teenager had become a college professor. He had grown into this amazing and interesting adult.
I do not know the life experiences that shaped him, nor how he grew out of his former self, but I imagine it didn’t happen all at once, but rather it was those small wins (and failures) that nurtured and changed him.
Perhaps radio stations still feel like home to him, and I bet just beneath that leather jacket, there’s a glimmer of his spirit, essence, and soul from 40 years ago that a former high school teacher would still recognize today.
When our children were younger, we took them to the Ben & Jerry’s factory in Waterbury, Vermont. For anyone who likes ice cream, it’s an awesome visit, complete with taste testing.
Outside, there is a burial ground for flavors that are no longer in production (Holy Cannoli, Oh Pear, and Wavy Gravy, to name a few). How great would it be to have a similar graveyard for habits, coping skills, and behaviors that no longer serve a purpose in our life.
We lean into the flavors that work and throw out the ones that don’t.
Which makes it all sound very simple. It’s not. Permanent change takes courage, commitment, consistency, and community. Or at least that is my experience – it’s hard.
But possible.
The Brussels sprout of the 1960’s was high in fiber and vitamin C, rich in antioxidants, and low in calories, and the same is true today. We still benefit from those nutritional qualities (the ones that I was forced to consume as a child; the sprouts’ essence), and yet change and growth have delivered to us a much more palatable experience.
Gone is that little girl who sat staring down a vegetable at the dinner table. Gone are those stewed sour balls that made me want to gag. I would like to think that we have both matured, changed, and become better versions of our former selves.
But maybe the sprout wins.
