Unlike today a happy meal in our day was bologna on white or wheat with a glass of milk, sometimes chocolate if we had it, perhaps a P and J, or even tuna did we get, O then sometimes a grilled cheese we welcomed with hot tomato soup without the toe in it.
Or she made for us the special treat when days were very bland. That sweet treat which did so cheer us up, what is called by many Ice box cookies a form of penicillin made of oats and coco.
But today the children desire these new oddities fast food things called chicken nuggets, so deep-fried in a box with apple fries and some milk called 2%, but 2% of what? And a gender neutral toy; yes, this is what the kiddies get?
We were happy with what we had? Well honestly maybe sometime we were not, O yes, we wanted more, but looking back I must admit really we had it all, for we had them, we had our parents in their youth with all of their oddities and dysfunctional budding quirks. Hopefully we did our part to shape them, making them into the grandparents that they became. For once my dear sweet mother was such a hot, hot chick; Now she sometime mumbles and forgets just where she is, the children really love her and candy, cash and defense of them she readily passes out.
Aliens strangers and cast iron: That savory treat round meat? Not pink.
Now I will convey the story of my sweet dear mother and her favorite little treat a kind of meat; I for one just could not eat, this formed meat that was not a treat to me, in any shape or form the dreaded one pound can of Spork, that lurid FDA special; smelled as bad as powered eggs and milk. Oh the government issued staples of the past which even now they are still found giving out. Yes, in someplace kids hide in fear while an unsuspecting parent tries to feed the dreaded meat called spork.. Like the dreaded ten pound fruit cake, that each is thus sent, around to someone not suspecting it, that special gift no one wants; that in reality no one has ever even opened it, they just pack it in a closet till the season comes again, to give it then to the name they drawn from the hat; too them it is then sent with a card bearing special wishes, till again another year has passed.
Yet to no relative even those who were the worst would one send the dreaded mystery meat; for to speak of it was taboo! as if a curse would fall upon your head and doomed you then would be.
But my momma she love it so, Oh the horror of the dreadful mystery contained within the FDA what ever had they packaged into that can. Many a slice of it she’d fry in the old cast iron skillet, the smell it burned the little hairs within my nose; as into my sinus that smell did creep. As the edges they did brown and curl up. I would slip away and hide as She and my sisters would devour the dreadful meat. With smiles wide and teeth so gleaming oh so bright, they called out like ravenous chicks give us more, She would fry it, bake it, steam it, then hide it in some eggs; thinking I would eat it, but to the dog it went. Yes for a little while once I had a little dog, even he would not eat this foreign thing the FDA called meat ,but make a run oh yes he did. whenever he’d get a wafting hint of the dreadful mystery meat, yes, off he’d run, he’d just up and disappeared. Never saw a dog so small jump a ten foot fence. Then one morning he was gone, I never saw him again, but later in the week it arrived more of those cans of mystery meat.
No, I’ve never known nor can I see the value of this dread treat that the FDA calls meat, neither have I myself ever received one bit of pleasure, nor from my reading does it have any nutritional food value. This thing called Spork; yes, my friend it’s called Spork it’s a mysterious form of canned meat.
Sometime every now and then, I wonder where or when yes, I have asked who invented it. All of this came back to me not long ago for I went to my own cupboard and there in front of me sat a can of that horrid meat! It seemed to be looking back at me. How or where it came from I will never know but I tossed it quickly quietly in the trash.