I know the friends I had in grade school were true friends, because my sandwiches were not fit for trading. Anyone would be friends with the kids who had Oreos or pudding to offer.
The sandwich I ate on the last day of school was almost ten months old. Until it thawed at noon, I didn’t know if it was a bologna sandwich, peanut butter and honey or peanut butter and jam. I hate jam, but there was always a one-in-three chance that I would find it in my sandwich. I went to grade school long before peanut products were banned. I never knew any kids with peanut allergies.
To this day, my parents think themselves quite ingenious for hatching their efficient idea of preparing an entire school-year’s worth of sandwiches for four kids. They were well-intentioned working parents who just didn’t have time to organize themselves, their brood of children and lunches by 8:30 every weekday morning. Well-intentioned, but a bit daft.
My sister, two brothers and I were banned from play one dreaded Saturday each summer. Already tarnished from the cruel imprisonment on a summer day, our moods would further plummet at the sight of the kitchen table. Piled upon it were dozens of loaves of Wonder Bread, jars of peanut butter, jam, honey and mustard and stacks of bologna. It was Sandwich Making Day.
“No fair.”
“Life’s not fair.” My fingers were stained French’s yellow.
The sandwiches were placed in plastic bags. There were no Zip-Locks then. The plastic bags did little to ward off freezer burn. But into the freezer they would go, hundreds of ready-made sandwiches.
Every school day morning, my siblings and I would trek down to the basement where the big freezer lived among the spiders and take a sandwich. Please not jam, please not jam. My sad sandwich was placed in my blue Jabberjaw lunch box, along with a Wagon Wheel and an apple.
The Wagon Wheel was always gone long before the bus deposited me at school. Who could resist? When the bell signaled it was time to head for the gym to eat lunch, I knew my sandwich would be more or less thawed. The centre would still be cool, but at least I could now determine whether I had won the sandwich lottery. In my mind, peanut butter and honey was the top prize.
No one would trade with me. Who would trade anything good for a frozen sandwich or an apple? I wonder if I would have different friends today if I had had crackers or ham and cheese sandwiches in my lunch back then. Maybe. But I don’t believe they would have been as good as the ones I was able to make, and keep, with nothing more to offer than a ten-month-old sandwich.
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I loved this post for many reasons. I think the title was a great way to capture the readers attention. I also thought that the sandwich lottery was hilarious! You managed to keep a humourous tone and at the same time incorperate a deeper meaning by including your friends. Its true that in life everything happens for a reason and maybe there was a method to the madness that your parents had in mind when making you the good old "lunchbox favorites" (sarcasm). Maybe they knew that true friends were those who accepted you as a pb and j girl or a balogna and mustard queen. The one thing that this post leaves me wondering is .. well theres two things a)what was that sandwich that day, unless I missed reading it somewhere and b) when you have kids will you use this method to allow them to make genuine friends!? otherwise, great job!
ReplyDelete-Bridney Prout
I agree with Bridney - I think that this post was very cleverly written! When I read it, I was picturing a Robert Munsch book. I love how you made the comparison between your 10-month old sandwich, and your friends because I know exactly what you mean when you talk about trading lunches as a kid. I was personally, rather fortunate to be one of the kids that had awesome (and healthy) lunches... I wouldn't trade my lunch for the world! haha! So seeing the other side of it made me think about how simple life was in grade school - how you could make friends (or attempt to make friends) with people just by what they had in their lunch boxes.
ReplyDeleteAs for the "Sandwich Making Day" that's really funny. I can just picture all the ingredients on the table waiting to be made. I love cooking, so I think I would have had fun with it, and had been (as cheesy as this may sound) proud that I would be eating my own creation.
Love it!! A+ :)
Colleen Wilkinson
First, let me say that I love the title for your blogsite…I am date-stamping myself by knowing who you mean though! Hee hee! I was pleasantly surprised to read your blog. From the title, I could not guess for the life of me what you had in store (literally…I guess it would be storage!) I liked how you brought us through your experience from your 10 month old line to your morning lottery. I could really relate to the Wagon Wheels… there I go date-stamping myself again. As for suggestions, I would take out the peanut allergy part, I am not sure how it adds to your story rather than side track it a bit. Also, the top prize sentence (PB & honey) might fit better in the same paragraph as the “jam, not jam” description of discovery.
ReplyDeleteIt may be interesting to take out the part about friendship and just leave it at the experience of eating a 10 month old sandwich. As a first line, that statement alone would have gotten me! If you kept that one, then went right into the parent part, it would focus on the reason your sandwich was 10 months old (which is the “gotcha” of your story). The ingeniousness of your parents, the experience of dozens of loaves, the lottery…that is what gets me through your piece. There is no comparison with how other people traded and got “good friends”; the friends you had or how they were better for you having nothing to trade. I think that the bulk of your text is the sandwich experience, and is very well done. If you started with the sandwich, then the last bit of universal knowledge to impart with the readers could be about best intentions, ingenuity, and then…the part about having good friends due to the lack of trading goods could fit as a part of the experience rather than the intention of your piece. Altogether a good read, the flow is great, you did a good job on making me smile and relive your experience. Keep up the good work, cheers, Yuk-Sem
Tracie, you make it clear that it’s not what’s inside your lunch box that defines a kid. I was a kid just like you. I can relate completely. Most people can relate to elementary school lunch time stories. But a certain style of writing makes it MORE relatable; yours has succeeded to do so. The imagery of your “fingers being stained French’s yellow” is great. I hated when that happened to me, I would end up with mustard all over my fingers and usually didn’t notice until I was on my bus. Because the piece was reflective of a time when making sandwiches for school months in advance was torturous and cruel, now, regardless of what you thought then, you are able to see “where your parents were coming from”. And your friends, real friends, wouldn’t have traded even you for a better lunch and you can see that now too. The title of this entry was captivating too: it kept me reading. I might say that you could get rid of the small introduction paragraph and jump right into the second one. As a reader, many things would run through my head after reading the first sentence: was the sandwich mouldy? Was she in some sort of prison? (haha in a way you were). My mind races and I keep reading. Soon, things all make sense. Well done.
ReplyDeleteGreat descriptive language bringing the reader to his mercy! I love this post and the comparison between lunchboxes and friendship. Very fun to read.
ReplyDelete