The first part of my reply is going to come across as a "I walked miles in the snow to school" kind of story, but the first schools I attended were no-frills, old fashioned, public schools that had no lunch room (or library or gym or anything else that wasn't a classroom, giant hall, or office. So my mother packed my lunch, and I bought each day's snack in the hall for a nickle. At home, nobody ever tried to make me eat anything. So, I don't have one of those "made-me-eat" stories.
There was ONE food that I pretty much DID cry over almost every Sunday for the first, maybe, six years of my life - ice cream. That was because our parents would take us for the classic Sunday drive the included going for ice cream cones. I couldn't eat the ice cream fast enough, so I'd pretty much always end up crying when it melted and hit the dirt. Then my mother would always say how I had to eat it faster so that wouldn't happen (as if I didn't know that already, but there was no way I could eat the ice cream fast enough.
I didn't even care so much about losing the ice cream. I just hated whatever sticky mess was involved in the whole process, but I also felt bad to see such a perfectly nice ice cream cone almost immediately end up the way they inevitably did on a regular basis.
Anyway, somewhere along the way we started going to where a person could get her ice cream in a cup, eat it at her happy leisure, and drink what had melted at the bottom of the cup.
That was the start of a life-long habit of only getting ice cream in a cup or dish (and I never even liked either type of waffle cone anyway).
Permanently scarred from all that early ice-cream trauma, I suppose; to this day, I do everything I can to avoid having to get involve with scooping ice cream out of a half-gallon container. While I don't cry if I have to deal with the ice cream mess, I do definitely feel a very mean "inner mood" settling in.
Anyway, that's the best story I could come up with. :)
And the moral to that story is: Parents: If you have a little kid who can't eat an ice cream cone fast enough to keep the ice cream from falling off don't wait six years before you figure out that your little kid can't wolf down a big, giant, blob of ice cream perched precariously on top of a brittle cone and/or that your little kid's hands are small; and a big, heavy, ice cream cone is at extremely high risk of tipping over and ending up on the ground. (lol)