Free at Last

It was Erev Yom Kippur, and my daughter was in the hospital having given birth to her daughter the previous day, so K and D were having dinner with us at our house before the fast. Uncle A brought a can of Cherry 7-Up to the table, and immediately the kids started clamoring (OK, whining) for "pop." We told them they could have pop after they ate, but that, of course, was an unsatisfactory answer, as far as they were concerned. Papa told them that when he was a little boy, he never had pop ("soda," to the rest of us) until the end of the meal.
"My Mommy didn't let me have pop until I finished eating," he explained, "because she didn't want me to fill up my tummy with pop and then not have room for my healthy food."
K considered this for a moment, and then said casually, "But she died."
The 5 adults at the table all choked on our soup simultaneously, and Papa managed to splutter, "Yes, she did," wondering where this was leading.
"So now you don't have to listen to her any more," K continued. "Now you can do whatever you want!"