Watermelon Liberation

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This great fruit deserves a fair shake.

The White House won't comment. Many Americans act as if it's something to hide. And the rest of the world thinks it's irrelevant. I'm talking about watermelon: cold, icy watermelon, thirst — quenching watermelon, gift of the gods, joy of unbridled childhood, pride of strutting youth. But as maturity and responsibility roll across our lives, our deep, abiding love for watermelon goes underground, sinks into the private psyche, the realm of quiet reverie, seldom to be acknowledged again — except, of course, on the Fourth of July, the one day we allow ourselves to celebrate its glories. Briefly and brilliantly visible on this national holiday, watermelon is normally exiled from polite society for the rest of the year. It may, in fact, be our last great taboo.

It is, first of all, awkward to grow, store and eat. Its unruly vines, some reaching 15 feet in length, sprawl across the rational plans and geometrical designs of tidy gardeners. Its bulky weight defeats all attempts at grace and poise. Hauling a watermelon from garden to kitchen is often a rite of passage for small boys. In the refrigerator, it subverts logic and efficiency, its oblong and globular shapes being uniquely illadapted for the flat shelves and right angles of modem storage. Its watery pulp is messy and sticky, and its ubiquitous seeds force the wouldbe eater to think carefully about the logistics of consumption and disposal. In short, watermelon is vaguely embarrassing to adult sensibilities.

It's easy to assume they're just too big for their britches.

The lives of virtually all Americans are tightly intertwined with watermelon memories. A friend in her seventies recalls packing her father's icehouse in Richmond, Virginia, with the first green fruits of summer. Watermelon chunks provided ammunition in the daily wars waged against her brother. Fraternity boys still pour quarts of gin into holes drilled in watermelons and allow the mushy concoction that results to marinate until drinkable.

Now that the Cold War belongs to history, Americans finally have the chance to take a fresh look at themselves. Our defense of freedom was long and arduous, but it will have been for naught unless we feel free to talk openly about watermelon. Almost alone among common foods, watermelon comes heavily burdened with connotations of race and class. It is, by itself, a dense, complex system of signs and meanings. No great nation can long endure when its best citizens fear to reveal their deepest yearnings. The time has come to bring this worthy fruit out of the closet.

Unlike President Bush, I harbor no grudge against broccoli. I am saddened, however, by his inadvertent insult to watermelons.He talks about broccoli ad nauseam but fails to call attention to the exemplary qualities of our secret passion. His silence speaks volumes about the plight of the watermelon.