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It's an amazing read. From the book, page 56. Keep in mind this is a little kid:

Mother sensed that I was getting food some way, so she began sprinkling ammonia in the trash can. After that, I gave up on the garbage at the house and focused my sights on finding some other way to get food at school. After getting caught stealing from other kids' lunches, my next idea was to rip off frozen lunches from the school cafeteria.

I timed my restroom break so that the teacher excused me from the classroom just after the delivery truck dropped off a supply of frozen lunches. I crept into the cafeteria and snatched a few frozen trays, then I scurried to the restroom. Alone in the restroom, I swallowed the frozen hot dogs and tater tots in huge chunks so fast almost choked myself in the process. After filling my stomach I returned to the classroom, feeling so proud <i>I</i> fed myself.

As I ran to the house from school that afternoon, all I could think about was stealing food from the cafeteria the next day. Minutes later, mother changed my mind. She dragged me into the bathroom and slugged me in the stomach so hard that I bent over. Pulling me around to face the toilet, she ordered me to shove my finger down my throat. I resisted. I tried my old trick of counting to myself, as I stared into the porcelain toilet bowl, "One ... two ..." I never made it to three. Mother rammed her finger into my mouth, as if she wanted to pull my stomach up through my throat. I squirmed in every direction in an effort to fight her. She finally let me go, but only when I agreed that I would vomit for her.

I knew what was going to happen next. I closed my eyes as chunks of red meat spilled into the toilet. Mother just stood behind me, with her hands on her hips and said, "I thought so. Your father's going to hear about this!" I tensed myself for the volley of blows that I knew was coming, but nothing happened. After a few seconds, I spun around to discover that Mother had left the bathroom. I knew the episode wasn't over. Moments later she returned with a small bowl, ordered me to scoop up the partially digested food out of the toilet and put it in the bowl. Since Father was away shopping at the time, Mother was gathering evidence for his return.

Later that night, after I finished all of my evening chores, Mother had me stand by the kitchen table while she and Father talked in the bedroom. In front of me was the bowl of hot dogs that I had vomited. I couldn't look at it, so I closed my eyes and tried to imagine myself far away from the house. A short time later, Mother and Father stormed into the kitchen. "Look at this, Steve," Mother barked, thrusting her fingers in the direction of the bowl. "So you think The Boy is through stealing food, do you?"

By the look on Father's face, I could tell he was getting more and more tired of the constant "What has The Boy done now" routine. Staring at me, he shook his head in disapproval and stammered, "Well, Roerva, if you would just let The Boy have <i>something</i> to eat."

A heated battle of words broke out in front of me, and as always, mother won. "EAT? You want The Boy to eat, Stephen? Well, The Boy is going to EAT! He can eat this!" Mother yelled at the top of her lungs, shoving the bowl towards me and stomping off to the bedroom.

The kitchen became so quiet I could hear Father's strained breathing. He gently placed his hand on my shoulder and said, "Wait here, Tiger. I'll see what I can do." He returned a few minutes later, after trying to talk Mother out of her demand. By the saddened look on his face, I knew immediately who won.

I sat on a chair and picked the clumps of hot dogs out of the bowl with my hand. Globs of thick saliva slipped through my fingers, as I dropped it into my mouth. As I tried to swallow, I began to whimper. I turned to Father, who stood looking through me with a drink in his hand. He nodded for me to continue. I couldn't believe he just stood there as I ate the revolting contents of the bowl. At that moment, I knew we were slipping further and further apart.

I tried to swallow without tasting, until I felt a hand clamp on the back of my neck. "Chew it!" Mother snarled, "Eat it! Eat it all!" she said, pointing to the saliva. I sat deeper in my chair. A river of tears rolled down my cheeks. After I had chewed the mess in the bowl, I tilted my head back and forced what remained, down my throat. I closed my eyes and screamed to myself to keep it from coming back up into my mouth. I didn't open my eyes until I was sure my stomach wasn't going to reject my cafeteria meal. When I did open them, I stared at Father who turned away to avoid my pain. At that moment I hated Mother to no end, but I hated Father even more. The man who had helped me in the past, just stood like a statue while his son ate something even a dog wouldn't touch.