I was a picky eater growing up. Vegetables weren’t really my thing. The issue mostly came down to taste, I think. I didn’t particularly like gagging when I put something in my mouth, and vegetables tended to do that. My parents were really into them, though, so they made me eat some at dinner. So I would take a big sip of water, shove in a few peas or beans or whatever, and swallow before my tongue could register their existence. It was a traumatic experience. It worked, though, at least enough to get me dessert, where applicable. But it didn’t help me appreciate or enjoy vegetables, and no matter how many times I tried, my taste never changed like everyone said it would. For that, I just had to grow up. Although, by this measure, I didn’t grow up until around the age of 33.