I hate cooked broccoli. I hate all cooked vegetables but broccoli is near the top of the list. The smell of it is enough to make my stomach turn. It is my kryptonite. So there is no greater testament of the love I have for my daughter than the fact that I voluntarily cook this vile vegetable for her, and feed it to her, and let her mush a big piece of it all up and down my arm just to watch her smile at my discomfort. That is love.