HELP! this is on a quiz that is due in 20 minutes and it's only the 3rd question! If you can give the story a theme, what would that theme be. Use evidence from the text to back up your thought. (You must have a complete sentence to receive full credit.)

' If You Are What You Eat, Then What Am I?' by Geeta Kothan

1 “To belong is to understand the tacit codes of the people you live with.”—Michael
Ignatieff
2 Th e fi rst time my mother and I open a can of tuna, I am nine years old. We stand in the doorway of the kitchen, in semi-darkness, the can tilted toward daylight. I want to eat what the kids at school eat: bologna, hot dogs, salami—foods my parents find repugnant because they contain pork and meat by-products, crushed bone and hair glued together by chemicals and fat. Although she has never been able to tolerate the smell of fi sh, my mother buys the tuna, hoping to satisfy my longing for American food.
3 Indians, of course, do not eat such things.
4 The tuna smells fi shy, which surprises me because I can’t remember anyone’s tuna sandwich actually smelling like fish. And the tuna in those sandwiches doesn’t look like this, pink and shiny, like an internal organ. In fact, this looks similar to the bad foods my mother doesn’t want me to eat. She is silent, holding her face away from the can while peering into it like a half-blind bird.
5 “What’s wrong with it?” I ask.
6 She has no idea. My mother does not know that the tuna everyone else’s mothers made for them was tuna salad.
7 “Do you think it’s botulism.? (botulism-eating improperly preserved food.)
8 I have never seen botulism, but I have read about it, just as I have read about but never eaten steak and kidney pie.
9 There is so much my parents don’t know. They are not like other parents, and they disappoint me and my sister. They are supposed to help us negotiate the world outside, teach us the signs, the clues to proper behavior: what to eat and how to eat it.
10 We have expectations, and my parents fail to meet them, especially my mother, who works full time. I don’t understand what it means, to have a mother who works outside and inside the home; I notice only the ways in which she disappoints me. She doesn’t show up for school plays. She doesn’t make chocolate frosted cupcakes for my class. At night, if I want her attention, I have to sit in the kitchen and talk to her while she cooks the evening meal, attentive to every third or fourth word I say.
11 We throw the tuna away. This time my mother is disappointed. I go to school with tuna eaters. I see their sandwiches, yet cannot explain the discrepancy between them and the stinking, oily fish in my mother’s hand. We do not understand so many things, my mother and I.