Sunday mornings at my home were a little bit special for me as a child. I would always wake up to such delights as jelly doughnuts, poppy seed rolls, and fruit. And if I were really lucky, my father would have baked fresh corn bread (otherwise he never did anything in the kitchen but eat). Along with these goodies there’d be the usual milk, tea, or coffee, and of course orange juice. On one cold morning however, instead of finding the customary pitcher of OJ, there was a pitcher of rather thick-looking red liquid. “What the heck is that?” I wondered. I was repelled as my mother poured this gunk into my juice glass. Did she expect me to drink it? She could tell by my look of horror that I wasn’t about to let that stuff enter my mouth. “It’s tomato juice,” she told me. “Try it, it’s good” “That’s disgusting! It looks like blood!” I replied. “Don’t be silly, now come on and try it, I know you’ll like it” “NO!” I refused. “But you like tomatoes. This is just like tomatoes in a blender. I promise, you’ll love it”. “I want orange juice!” “Sorry, honey, there’s no more left, that’s why we’re having tomato juice this morning” “I’ll throw up if I drink that” “No you won’t…. please, just try it” my mother continued. I refused. I buttered a roll, had some milk, and finally a jelly doughnut, but there was no way I was going to drink that horrible red liquid. She handed my glass to my father. My brothers and sister seemed to be enjoying it enough though. Toward the end of breakfast I had finally worked up some courage and said to my mother: “Okay, I’ll try it” She poured the tiniest bit into a juice glass, which I brought up to my lips. “Here goes.” I thought. It was delicious! “Mmmmmm, that’s good!” Okay, I’ll have some more. “Sorry honey”, that was the last of it. It was then and there that I learned the importance of not being afraid to try new things. If you wait too long, it just might be too late. Thankfully that wasn’t the last bottle of tomato juice on Earth.