One of the benefits of our military life is the opportunity to observe exotic locals in their natural habitats. I just didn’t expect on of those natural habitats to be in a strip mall in San Diego.

“Are you watching this?” Brad whispered to me as the tall, tan, blonde stalked up to the counter at the local Jamba Juice. She hoisted a plastic shot glass full of what looked like watery salsa verde and smelled like a fresh cut lawn. She slammed it back like a shot of tequila. Followed that by sucking a segment of orange. Wiped her lips with the back of her hand.
 
Brad giggled.
 
“Where are the wheatgrass shots for the boys?” the blonde demanded.
 
“For the boys?” the juicer gal asked. She glanced at these two shaggy middle schoolers huddled at the back of the store, sucking down giant strawberry lemonades. They didn’t look nutritionally conscious. “We thought…”
 
“No,” said the blonde. “I want wheatgrass all round.”

The juicer gals looked at each other, shrugged. Put down shot glasses and orange segments on a tray in front of boys. The older one slammed his with a professional flick of the wrist. He sucked at his orange. The little one sipped at his cup, lips curled back from his teeth.

“No,” said his brother. “Faster than that.”

Brad had to leave the store at that exact moment. Sometimes California is too much for him. But I was fascinated. Maybe this mother has scraped as much broccoli off plates as I have. Maybe she has just as many bags of slimey baby spinach in her fridge. Could she have discovered that wheatgrass is the codliver oil of a new generation? Would wheatgrass be the answer to “Honey, You’re Killing the Kids?”

If it is, my family needs some right now. Because our sixth grader hasn’t eaten a green vegetable in at least four years. If you dissected his lower intestine at this moment, you would find no evidence of anything passing through there that isn’t found in a cheap hot dog.
 
The handout by the door said that drinking an ounce of fresh wheatgrass is the nutritional equivalent of eating 2 1/2 lbs of leafy green vegetables. It’s supposed to minimize the fatigue that is cause by a poor diet. Assist with natural weight loss. Bolster the immune system. Combat ulcers. Act as a disinfectant.
 
So I dragged Adventure Boy down to the juiceria. Kelsey came too, no challenge too awful for her. The four year old and I watched as the older two bellied up to the bar. The juicer gals grabbed handfuls of wheatgrass out of the tray to put in the machine.
 
“Oh, I thought that was a decoration,” said Sam brightly.
 

I reminded myself to invest in a colonoscopy machine when we got home. When the shots came out, I smelled one of them, but couldn’t bring myself to drink any of it. The kids sucked it right down.
 
“Better than a chewable vitamin,” Sam announced.
 
“Tastes like lemonade,” Kelsey said. “Made from grass.”
 
I felt a dash of hope, a ray of sunshine, a bit of relief from the constant drag of being a not-so-nutritious parent. Mercy, was it worth $2.50 to get a vegetable into these kids?
 
Then the four year old stepped up. “Ice cream,” he demanded.

“Me, too,” the older ones cried.
 
I looked at the juicers helplessly. They shrugged. “Have you got that in wheatgrass?”