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My First Snowball
When I was in second grade, Hurdland school added a lunchroom that served hot meals to the students. I still salivate remembering the beef and noodles, delicious cinnamon rolls, and creamy macaroni. Prior to that year, students brought their lunch to school in a lunchbox or in a paper sack. My lunchbox held homemade soup in a thermos, roast beef sandwiches, apples, and occasionally, a homemade cookie. Homemade meals seemed the standard fare for all but one boy in my class. His lunch was every kid’s dream. Ronnie brought bologna sandwiches, potato chips, and a candy bar. Living on a farm, I was fed free range chickens, pork, and beef. Bologna was a treat! The only time I got bologna was on the 4th of July. After a morning at the Hurdland celebration, we hurried home for a quick lunch of bologna sandwiches before heading back to the park! To this day, I drive myself down memory lane once in a while and treat myself to a bologna sandwich. Some foods evoke good memories.
Anyway, Ronnie brought bologna sandwiches, potato chips, and candy bars. Wow, was he ever lucky. Unlike disadvantaged me, who had healthy food to eat day after day. But, one day my luck changed. On that day, Ronnie ate his bologna sandwich, scarfed down a bag of chips, and guzzled his chocolate milk. I watched longingly as Ronnie pulled out his special treat. Gingerly he peeled off a crinkly Hostess wrapper. There, hunkered down on a small cardboard pad, sat two white mounds. As I gazed longingly, Ronnie’s teeth sank into that sugary coating to reveal hidden internal treasures! First was a dark brown layer of chocolate cake. Deeper, in the hollow stomach of that delectable cake oozed a creamy white filing. Let your mind settle there for a minute. I know mine did, as I stared dreamily at Ronnie and his treat. The chocolate mounds were covered by a smooth blanket of white marshmallow dusted with a fine layer of coconut, which justified the treat’s name, “Snowballs.” I stared wide-eyed, salivating jealously as Ronnie absorbed the first cake into his mouth.
What prompted this next miracle is anyone’s guess? Perhaps, Ronnie had a pang of sympathy, or, and perhaps, Ronnie was just too full to eat one more snowball. Whatever it was, I heard the words I never expected, “Would you like my other snowball?”
“Me?” I blurted, my head swiveling round to be sure that some other fortunate soul was not the intended recipient of this sweet offer.
“Yeah, do you want it?” he said, holding out his flattened palm on which sat the delectable treat. Even as a first grader, I had the good sense to consider momentarily that I might be required to pay somehow for this golden opportunity. But, good sense delayed my acceptance by only a fraction of a second. My hand reached out. And, that, my friends was my first experience with a snowball.
My husband still laughs when I occasionally arrive home with a package of Snowballs. Yep, old memories die hard, especially the delicious ones.
– Contributed by Carolyn Primm