Smoked Ham

There were many times I narrowly escaped death. One of those times was in fifth grade. OK, it wasn't that serious, and maybe I was partially responsible for causing the dire situation, but I was in fifth grade. Every kid gets into some kinda trouble every once in a while. heehee

My brother and I were often dropped off at the local library on weekends and were expected to finish our homework, read or play quietly for several hours. This particular weekend one of our friends, Pearl, came along. After we did some work, we wanted to go run around outside.

We decided to play house in the library's clusters of pine trees. My brother was the Dad, Pearl was the Mom and I was the baby. Pearl and my brother gathered pine branches and made a tee pee of sorts. I was given the responsibility of lighting the fire for dinner. The fact that "the baby" got to play with fire tells you none of us should be parents. Ever.

Don't ask me where we got the matches, we just had them. The three of us learned very quickly that pine needles burn quite easily. Within seconds our tee pee was filled with smoke and then became ablaze like nothing we had experienced before. We tried to throw dirt on top of it, but of course the ground was covered with fallen pine needles... I'm surprised nobody saw the billows of smoke coming from the trees behind the library.

Pearl grabbed my most favorite sweater in the whole wide world, my pink Miss Piggy sweater, and started smothering the fire with it. Amazingly, it worked. When the fire was out, we stood looking wild eyed at each other. I was torn. I was relieved the fire was extinguished, but I was sad my sweater was destroyed.

Brother: Let's go back inside and eat our snacks. (Looking at me) Don't tell Mom about your sweater.

I didn't and she didn't even notice it was gone.

Lessons Not Learned

Button Popper. That’s what someone called me once. I prompted that Button Popper comment cuz I complained about how I should have stopped eating an hour ago, and that the threads were straining to keep that little button on my jeans.

There were many times when I overstuffed my pork cutlet. One of those times was in 7th grade. Lori was my new best friend. She invited me to dinner at her house. Lori’s mom was going to let us shape our own hamburger patties and put on as many toppings as we wanted! Lori’s mom was awesome! (Also, Lori’s mom had the sweetest, smoothest voice I had ever heard up to that point in my life, the kind of voice that only black women are blessed with.)

The burgers we made were quarter pound burgers. Lori and I each ate two. Don’t ask me how. I felt great as I swallowed my last mouthful. Five minutes later, not so great. I sat down and stopped participating in whatever game we were playing. Lori did the same. But Lori’s little sister, who was much smarter and only ate half of a burger, wanted us to keep playing. I told her I couldn't move.

Lori went to the couch. I stayed on the floor. It hurt to breathe. I thought that was the last meal I was to ever eat. I wanted to cry. Lori’s mom looked sympathetically at us. Her expression was one of pity, but on the verge of laughing in my face. Now that I think about it, why did she let us eat so much??? Well, I think I passed out because I don’t remember the rest of the night.

After that and numerous similarly excruciating experiences you would think that I'd learn to eat slowly and stop when I’m full. I think you can see where I’m going with this...I’m pig-headed.

Little Fat Girl

It was summertime. I was 10. We were unsupervised latchkey kids, my brother & I.

Breakfast was a big bowl (or two) of the favorite cereal of the week. For a few weeks (OK, the whole summer) I was hooked on Kellogg's corn flakes topped with a heaping spoonful of sugar.

Lunch was dinner leftovers or another bowl of cereal. If I was not in a hurry to get back to playing Mule, Spy vs. Spy or Ghost Busters on our high tech Commodore 64, I'd even make eggs for lunch. Sometimes scrambled, sometimes over easy. (It would be another year before I discovered soft poached eggs.)

Afternoon snack was almost always some sort of frozen delight. Ice cream sandwiches, mint chocolate chip ice cream, strawberry ice cream with real strawberry chunks, fudgesicles... We enjoyed the abundant treasure of yummy, sugary goodness from our freezer as we watched Thundercats, Voltron and every other cartoon.

In between all that eating, playing and general dilly dallying we actually read books. Because we had to. One book a week and write a book report. I wish I knew where those book reports are, I'd love to read them now.

Anyway, my point is...I was a fat little girl and my brother was skinny. It's so unfair.