Lunches Packed With Love

This morning as I packed my husband’s lunch I thought of all the lunches my mother packed for me so many years ago. 

I was such a skinny child that Mother decided I must have some kind of meat in my lunch every day. Due to a tight budget and lack of variety at the local grocery store the meat most often consisted of bologna or liverwurst. Mother did not know that I often traded those questionable meat sandwiches for the more exotic fare of my classmates. I learned early to savor tomato sandwiches and who could forget the eye-opening first bite of a radish sandwich. The most innovative of these vegetable delights were the onion sandwiches presented for trade by a truly raggedy urchin with questionable hygiene. A thick slice of Bermuda onion sprinkled with salt and pepper on home baked bread covered with a thin layer of margarine created a true taste sensation. The urchin seemed to prefer the bologna, but not I. 

When I was in the third grade I graduated from a brown bag to a lunchbox with a matching thermos. This opened up a whole new world of possibilities for my Mother. The hot chocolate was great but I didn’t care for the soup. No one else in my class cared for it either so the chance of a trade was nonexistent. 

Later on Mother had a temporary job in a factory and my older sister assumed the responsibility of preparing my lunch. This was more to my liking. Diana was making me peanut butter and banana sandwiches about the same time Elvis’ mother was making them for him. I thought my sister invented this combination until years later when I heard about Elvis’ addiction to them. That was one luncheon delight I never traded, not even for an onion sandwich. 

The real highlight of those packed lunches were the little extras Mother included. There was always some fruit and a couple of home-baked cookies. Then there was a surprise. Sometimes it was a small piece of candy or a stick of chewing gum. Occasionally it was one of those little wax bottles with colored soda water inside. My favorite was Little Debbie chocolate cupcakes with cream filling. I can still taste that rich, heavy cake as it adhered to the roof of my mouth. You don’t forget something that good. 

When I reached my last year of high school I convinced my mother that she and I both needed a break from packed lunches one day a week. My day of choice was Friday. On that day she would give me 35 cents to purchase my lunch at the school cafeteria. I had other plans.  

Betty Lou’s father owned the car dealership in town and he had given her a brand new 1954 Chevy for her 16^th birthday. She was the only girl in our class who had her own car. On Fridays six of us senior girls would pile into that big sedan and tootle off to the diner for lunch. There we could purchase a bowl of chili (homemade) for 25 cents, a cherry smash for 5 cents and still have a nickel left over to play the jukebox. It didn’t get any better than that. Of course, that same 35 cents would have bought a complete, well-balanced meal at the cafeteria, but for us it bought an hour of freedom that was priceless.  

As I pack my husband’s lunch I reflect upon the love and care that went into those same preparations by both my mother and my sister. This is a tradition well worth continuing. I fill his thermos with love along with the coffee. I spread the bread with care and mayonnaise, and then stack it high with meat, cheese and a personal benediction. I add a kiss to the treats of candy, cookies and a surprise, and send it all off with a pat of love.