I tried to like avocadoes. I really did. They’re a superfood. Many people I respect love guacamole. It never took.

I tried to persuade my kid to like avocadoes when he was small and a ridiculously picky eater. I found them shoved down the back of the sofa cushions and behind the TV cabinet.

I don’t know if my mom ever tried to eat avocadoes. She grew up in California where they grew in abundance, but I’m not sure she ever even tried tasting one. It used to drive my father crazy that my mom did not appreciate being raised in a land of plenty where you could yank an orange right off the tree and eat it. As far as my mom was concerned, the only reason to yank an orange off a tree was to chuck it at someone.

So as far as my mom was concerned, avocadoes could stay on the trees. One night, the avocadoes had a different idea.

She was probably 10 or 11, babysitting for some family up the road from hers. She’d done all the babysitter things—played with kids, put them to bed, washed the dishes. Left to her own devices and not competing with the rest of her family, she was very excited to watch whatever TV she wanted. What was on? The House on Haunted Hill! Hurray!

About halfway through the movie, my mom hears loud bang, followed by a weird noise. Primed for fear, she is startled and then worried. She listens. Nothing happens. She relaxes. Another bang. And another. It’s clearly outside, but she gets up and checks the kids, who are still asleep. Walking back down the dark hallway, she hears it again, but more clearly—right over her head. Bang! Rattle rattle rattle.

Ah ha. Avocadoes were falling out of the tree, hitting the tin roof, and rolling off.

This probably did not cause her dislike of the fruit, but it probably didn’t help, either.