I posted the other day about not having had chicken tenders before, and decided that from the way you guys go on about them that I was probably missing out on something.

I told my husband that I felt like making chicken tenders for dinner that night because I hadn’t tried them before, and he couldn’t believe that I hadn’t tried them either! He laughed at me too – he said he often grabs McNuggets for lunch, and that they’re really tasty. Anyway, I hadn’t made them before, and I thought that the whole family would like them as a treat. I even bought a few bottles of Mountain Dew and made honey mustard because you all seem to think they’re such a good combination. I found a good recipe, made potato salad, some coleslaw, and some corn on the cob for sides. A whole spread. I set the table and put everything out to eat. It looked great.

The rest of my family got home – my husband, my stepdaughter who is in her final year of high school, and my son. My son got home last. He’s just started working as a personal trainer, so he didn’t finish work until the food was pretty much on the table.

Anyway, my stepdaughter was fine. She just loaded up her plate like normal and started eating. She seemed to like it. My son though… He didn’t take anything. At first he just kind of sat. And he stared. And he just kept sitting and staring until it became awkward. It wasn’t like him at all. He’s usually very polite at dinner, and very outgoing in general. We usually talk about our day, joke around a bit… Just normal family stuff. It was so out of place that the rest of the conversation just died.

We all sat there silently for a while. He started going a little pale. His eyes were fixed on just one plate. He was starting to quiver. And then, finally, he spoke.

“Tendie.”

We didn’t really know what to say.

“TENDIE!” he shouted.

My stepdaughter stood up, looking frightened.

“TENDIES”

We all jumped away from the table.

My boy started screaming. It was awful, I have never seen him act like this. He’s never so rude. He’s a good boy. He would never usually treat his food or family this way. He screamed over and over, “TENDIES TENDIES TENDIES TENDIES TENDIES!!!”

He threw himself at the table, picked up the bowl of coleslaw, and sent it crashing to the ground. Then his eyes widened, he threw back his head, and he let out a scream that will ring in my ears to the day I die.

“REEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!”

“Baby!” I shouted.

“REEEE! VEGETAL!” he screamed, picking up the bowl of potato salad, throwing it against the wall. He reached for the cobs of corn, hurling the first one through the plate glass of the living room window, and then each subsequent one onto the front yard through the hole he had left with an accompanying “REEEE!”

Then he turned to the plate of chicken tenders.

“Tendies,” he said, more softly, visibly calming. He had cleared the table of everything but the chicken tenders, the Mountain Dew, and the honey mustard. He gently picked up a chicken tender – the first to my knowledge that he had ever tried, and took a bite.

“Mm,” he grunted.

“Are you okay sweetie?” I was scared. “Baby?”

He looked down at the honey mustard, gently dipped the chicken tender, and took another bite.

“Mmmmm…” He moaned. “Mussy.”

He ate the rest of the tender in one bite, grabbed another fistful, dunked them in the honey mustard, and shoved them into his mouth. He chewed, sauce dripping down his chin.

“Thirsty!” he exclaimed, and he picked up a bottle of Mountain Dew, and drank the whole thing in one go. A visible wave of pleasure came over him.

“Dewey!” He yelped.

He snatched the tray of chicken tenders and the bowl of honey mustard, tucked a full bottle of Mountain Dew under his arm, and started to head for his room.

“That’s enough!” yelled my husband

“FUCK YOU CHADDY DADDY, ” screamed my boy. I have no idea why he called him that; my husband’s name is Colin. He continued on to his room, but then stopped. He doubled back towards the table, picked up the empty Mountain Dew Bottle he’d finished, muttered “jug”, walked into his room, and slammed the door.

I have no idea what you people have done to him. I have been waiting outside of his bedroom for days, but he won’t come out. When he’s hungry, he screams for more “tendies” and “mussy.” When he’s thirsty, it’s “Dewey” he wants. Occasionally he will open the door just enough to shove out the empty plates and his waste paper bin, which he has filled with his own faeces. He never throws the empty Mountain Dew bottles back.

I wish I had never come to this sub. I wish I had never made a chicken tender. Please tell me what I can do to help him. I love him. Please, he really is a good boy.