Who Invented Vegemite?
For anyone with kids, you know that motivating them to try new things can require some creative thinking—even if it means agreeing to something that might lead to your own suffering. A few weeks ago, the kids started taking ice skating lessons, but because Georgia was dealing with some health issues, Oli went to the first class alone. He was skating like a natural within minutes, gliding across the ice with his new friends. When it came time for Georgia to join him the next week, however, things were different. Oli easily followed the coach’s instructions, even playing tag with his friends, while Georgia clung tightly to a plastic chair, her feet inching slowly as she tried to stay upright. She spent the next hour and a half sliding cautiously along the edge, refusing to let go of her chair, casting wistful glances at Oli and the other kids skating freely across the rink.
Later, on the drive home, the car was filled with the faint scent of wet rubber and the lingering chill of the rink, and I tried to encourage Georgia. I assured her she was doing great for her first lesson and reminded her how some older kids were even helping her. Still, she was clearly frustrated and disheartened that she could not keep up with Oli’s rapid progress. I could tell she needed a confidence boost, so I spent a few days brainstorming ways to encourage her. By the weekend, I came up with an idea that was brave—maybe a bit reckless: “Georgia, if you skate without using a chair or the wall during your next lesson, I’ll eat a whole slice of toast with Vegemite.”
Georgia eagerly accepted the deal. She loves Vegemite and had been trying to get me to eat it since I’d arrived in Australia, but I’d avoided it, haunted by a memory of my first encounter with the spread, courtesy of my brother-in-law. He’d slathered a thick layer on a slice of bread—when you’re really only supposed to add a thin layer atop some butter. All week, Georgia kept reminding me that I would need to eat Vegemite after her next skating lesson.
The next lesson arrived, and the kids’ excited chatter filled the car as we drove to the rink. Once we arrived, the frosty air greeted us as we walked inside. Georgia quickly put on her skates and stepped to the edge of the ice. At first, she hesitated, and the coach offered her a chair. But she shook her head and inched forward, each step bringing more balance and courage. After half an hour of skating, she even made a new friend who held her hand as they skated together. She was exhilarated, her smile reflecting in the bright lights as she and her new friend skated around the rink. Meanwhile, I secretly hoped she might change her mind so I could avoid my impending Vegemite doom.
At the end of their lesson, Georgia’s confidence was undeniable. Oli, thrilled to witness my suffering, loudly reminded everyone that I’d be eating Vegemite at home. Back at home, I stalled as long as I could, but the moment of reckoning came. I toasted a slice of bread to golden perfection, slathered it with butter until it was moist, and braced myself as Georgia carefully spread a thin layer of Vegemite on top. As I lifted the toast to my nose, the smell hit me, and I thought to myself, Australians must be from another planet. They live in a country where every plant and animal could kill you, and they’ve created a spread that smells like poop, looks like poop, and tastes like poop. I took a bite, and instantly, the salty, bitter taste filled my mouth, bringing tears to my eyes as I fought to keep it down.
The kids cackled as I grimaced, and their mother looked on with sympathy. Though it only took a few minutes to choke down, it felt like an eternity. I think Georgia got the better end of this deal—an hour and a half of fun and accomplishment for her, while I spent five agonizing minutes wrestling with my gag reflex. But a deal is a deal. Now Georgia skates on her own, and I may have just insulted every Australian with my take on Vegemite.
