I'm bad

I wasn't a bad kid. I just had an extraordinary habit of not telling the "whole" truth. Not actually lying, just leaving out certain details that got me into a whale of trouble. Most of the trouble occurred when I was in grade school.

My dad was well known to my teachers and principals during my years in the Runnemede schools. Every little thing I didn't like, he was at the school pounding on somebody's desk, asking "Why?"

Well, I was a skinny kid, mainly because I hated breakfast -- always have -- it made me sick. I was okay by morning snack time, but eat right after I got up, food always made me sick. Still does. And the lunches my dear mother made for me--all I can say is "Yuck."

Now, I love cream cheese and olive sandwiches, but after they've been made a few hours, the cheese gets sort of a brown coating on it, and I couldn't get past that, so I wouldn't eat my lunch. Mom wanted to know why, because you see, I was stupid enough to bring it back home in my lunchbox, instead of throwing it away. A smart kid would have thought of that. I didn't. I told my mom I didn't have enough time to eat it. Not exactly true, but it was true. Here's why it was true. I would have needed several hours to get past the dried, brown, cream cheese. So, the 1/2 hour we had for lunch was not enough time.

Well, dad, of course, went to the school and pounded on Mrs. Brookfield's desk -- she was the teacher who was in charge of the lunch classroom for the 20 or so of us who didn't go home for lunch. Poor Mrs. Brookfield. She was a member of daddy's church, so I guess he was a little nicer to her. But after their discussion, she wasn't nice to me.

After dad's visit (about which he never gave me any hassles, which should had told me something was rotten in Runnemede) Mrs. Brookfield would NOT let me leave the lunch room for play time (the time between lunch and when school started again in the afternoon) until I had eaten every bit of my lunch, even if I gagged on every bite. She sat there and stared at me until it was gone. If I gagged, she encouraged me to eat more slowly. Eat more slowly? I wanted to get outside and swing on the swings, or pitch a ball with the boys.

Also, after dad's visit to the school, mom asked me if there was something else she could give me for lunch beside cream cheese and olives, or cream cheese and jelly (never a favorite of mine), or PB&J (something I hated more than anything). I said bologna and mustard would be nice, if it was on really soft, Wonder bread, not day old Italian bread. And I told her if she had only Italian bread, that tuna would be great. I've always loved the way my mom made tuna salad -- the way I still make it today. Tuna is the primary ingredient, some celery, and some chopped olives. Then mayo -- not Miracle Whip -- mom tried that just once. I nearly puked. That's it. Tuna, celery, olives, and mayo. Nothing else. No relish, no pickles, no eggs. Just tuna, celery, olives, and mayo.

She tried, my mother did, to honor my request, and I started getting a different lunch. Sometimes it was just crackers and cheese, which for me was just dandy. I wasn't a big lunch person anyway.

That's at least one experience I remember where I was less than good and got caught.