How can you not love gravy?

I love gravy.  I dream about it even.

My first memory of gravy when I was about 4 or 5 years old, living in Martinsville, Indiana.  My Aunt Patsy made the best gravy on the planet, and still does to this day.

"What do you want for breakfast, Ellie?" she would say.  "Biscuits and gravy," I would say.  "Don't you get tired of biscuits and gravy all the time?"  "Nope".

That was one of the main reasons why I was completely in shock when my granddaughter, Makayla, had a tearful outburst over the heavenly substance the rest of the world knows as gravy.  Makayla is the only child of our child number 4 out of 6, Pamela, who is in the Navy.

As a treat, sometimes on Saturday's or Sunday's, I make turkey loaf. It's not quite an entire turkey, but is great for one meal for just a few people.

This one particular Saturday, I made the turkey roll, green beans, a nice salad and mashed potatoes with a nice brown gravy (and biscuits of course).  My husband, Jerry and my youngest son, Benjamin love to drizzle (or dump) the gravy all over everything - their food might as well be swimming in it.  They are people after my own heart.

Makayla, who was just 3 years old at the time was sitting in her chair fidgeting a bit waiting for her meal to be served to her.  I cut the turkey into very small pieces, and dashed a little gravy on it, along with the mashed potatoes.

What came next will be the subject of controversy for years to come.  Makayla began to pout, which turned into a whimper, which transformed into a sob, which concluded in a wail.  "Grandma, I can't eat this."  "What's the matter, Makayla?"  "Grandma, I don't like this food!"  "Why not, Makayla?" 

"Grandma, this food is dirty!".

Probably from her father's side of the family...