my first metaphor

I remember when I was a very young boy being taken to see an oldtime western film by my older sister Peggy Ann at the Fifth Avenue church basement.
I forget everything about the film except for one scene where a little boy that died was buried out on the lone prairie with the covered wagons moving in a trail of dust.
Sad,I knew that was the word for what I was feeling,sad
But there was something else I was feeling but I couldn’t find the word for it.
Finally after being poked and prodded by my older sister now curious to know what I was feeling, I said”Uh..its like..like..dumpling stew”
She frowned and snorted
“Dumping stew?..that’s..that’s just stupid!”
Dumpling stew was what my Ma used to serve on a Wednesday night in the wintertime.
It was a watery mush of everything left over that we couldn’t even pretend to like.
But my Ma would insist that we should like it cause she spend a lot of time making it.
And that’s the way I felt about the film I saw
I was suppose to like it but I didn’t.