PBJ
Finally, I can call myself an American without feeling like a fraud. Sheesh. The delay in fully realizing my national consciousness/awareness was Mom's fault -- completely. And, while she claims her half-Polishness is partially to blame, that's wrong. I know for a fact that my uncles were never as delayed as I was in becoming a true, honest-to-goodness, red-blooded, patriotism-breathing "American." So, that means my grandmother did her part, even though she was full-Polish.
You're wondering how the heck Mom completely messed up the first six months of my second year as a so-called American. Well, she failed to introduce me to peanut butter and jelly sandwiches until just now. Do you know how old I am? I'm nineteen months, and I was nineteen months and one day before I ever had a real mcoyster PBJ sandwich.
Ok, to give Mom credit, I have had peanut butter, apple pie, cheetohs, chicken-fried steak, okra, mashed potatoes, and a ton of other stuff that legitimately contributed to my "Americanisky" consciousness. But, it wasn't until Mom saw my friends Owen and Ava eating PBJ sandwiches that she realized that I had never had one. Nope, I was stuck there eating a boiled egg, black beans, rye bread smeared with Laughing Cow cheese, yogurt, and apple sauce. A real winner-lunch, Mom! She's setting me up for social failure at such an early age. Cripes.
How did this situation get resolved? Yes, Mom saw the other kids eating them and decided that on Sunday, I could have a "treat." Thankfully, Dad was in on this plan. Dad's a real American, a PBJ conoisseur. He went with Mom to the commissary, and when Mom was tempted to buy the "Simply Fruit" jam, made with fruit juice and fruit, he convinced her to buy the "real stuff" loaded with sugar and a few strawberries: Smuckers Jam! Then, when it came to the bread aisle, he almost convinced her to buy white bread. Apparently, it's the stuff that when it gets wet could hold a trailer to a hitch. Well, she just couldn't bring herself to buy the white. Wheat it was! As for the peanute butter, we always have that stuff on hand. We're not completely sub-American.
We got home, and Mom made me a PBJ sandwich for lunch. Well, I had an appetizer first. I filled up a little on homemade fried mozzarella sticks. Then, I got my PBJ sandwich. Ahhhhh....HEAVEN! Mom made my sandwich, but Dad thinks she does it all wrong. I think he's right. He wouldn't even let Mom near his sandwich. It was the first time I saw Dad making his own sandwich. Pretty impressive skills. He methodically builds his sandwich with just the perfect amounts of peanut butter and jelly on each side. He's the engineer. Mom's more the artist. She just douses both sides in peanut butter and jelly. It's just a sloppy mess. I don't think she ate very many of those as a kid. Come to find out, she was a "grilled cheese" kind of kid. No fun. Typical.
I think you can tell a lot about a person, once you know what kind of sandwiches they liked as kids. The fun kids like PBJ -- pretty sure 'bout that.
Unfortunately, I don't think PBJ will be on the menu very frequently. Mom thinks it's more like a dessert than a proper lunch. Maybe if I eat more veggies, she'll relent. Plus, I always get cookie or cake if I eat a good dinner. It's not like I'm sugar-deprived.
but, I am now a genuine American.
You're wondering how the heck Mom completely messed up the first six months of my second year as a so-called American. Well, she failed to introduce me to peanut butter and jelly sandwiches until just now. Do you know how old I am? I'm nineteen months, and I was nineteen months and one day before I ever had a real mcoyster PBJ sandwich.
Ok, to give Mom credit, I have had peanut butter, apple pie, cheetohs, chicken-fried steak, okra, mashed potatoes, and a ton of other stuff that legitimately contributed to my "Americanisky" consciousness. But, it wasn't until Mom saw my friends Owen and Ava eating PBJ sandwiches that she realized that I had never had one. Nope, I was stuck there eating a boiled egg, black beans, rye bread smeared with Laughing Cow cheese, yogurt, and apple sauce. A real winner-lunch, Mom! She's setting me up for social failure at such an early age. Cripes.
How did this situation get resolved? Yes, Mom saw the other kids eating them and decided that on Sunday, I could have a "treat." Thankfully, Dad was in on this plan. Dad's a real American, a PBJ conoisseur. He went with Mom to the commissary, and when Mom was tempted to buy the "Simply Fruit" jam, made with fruit juice and fruit, he convinced her to buy the "real stuff" loaded with sugar and a few strawberries: Smuckers Jam! Then, when it came to the bread aisle, he almost convinced her to buy white bread. Apparently, it's the stuff that when it gets wet could hold a trailer to a hitch. Well, she just couldn't bring herself to buy the white. Wheat it was! As for the peanute butter, we always have that stuff on hand. We're not completely sub-American.
We got home, and Mom made me a PBJ sandwich for lunch. Well, I had an appetizer first. I filled up a little on homemade fried mozzarella sticks. Then, I got my PBJ sandwich. Ahhhhh....HEAVEN! Mom made my sandwich, but Dad thinks she does it all wrong. I think he's right. He wouldn't even let Mom near his sandwich. It was the first time I saw Dad making his own sandwich. Pretty impressive skills. He methodically builds his sandwich with just the perfect amounts of peanut butter and jelly on each side. He's the engineer. Mom's more the artist. She just douses both sides in peanut butter and jelly. It's just a sloppy mess. I don't think she ate very many of those as a kid. Come to find out, she was a "grilled cheese" kind of kid. No fun. Typical.
I think you can tell a lot about a person, once you know what kind of sandwiches they liked as kids. The fun kids like PBJ -- pretty sure 'bout that.
Unfortunately, I don't think PBJ will be on the menu very frequently. Mom thinks it's more like a dessert than a proper lunch. Maybe if I eat more veggies, she'll relent. Plus, I always get cookie or cake if I eat a good dinner. It's not like I'm sugar-deprived.
but, I am now a genuine American.
This is a million dollar photo of you, Jack! You are going to have to convince your mom to allow you the euphoric pleasure of PB&J more often!
ReplyDeleteStrawberry? Strawberry, Jack? Tell mom she has to pick up some Welch's grape jelly. That is what makes a true-blue American PBJ. Period, end of story.
ReplyDeleteTrust me, I lived on them at times.
Say, have you tried Oreos and milk? (I worry about your diet there little fella...)
Oreos and milk? Oh man, geez, where's Dad? That needs to be our American adventure for this weekend. You'll be glad to know that I got to have a grilled cheese sandwich and a grape Hi-C at the bowlng alley today. I needed some fries, but Mom told the lady to give me yogurt instead. GEEZ! Fun kill-switch!
ReplyDelete