The Lunchbox [in Spanish and English] Reedited

The Lunchbox


The Lunchbox

[1954-1957] We couldn’t always afford the hot lunches at St. Louis school [in St. Paul, Minnesota] during my elementary years [formative years], so my mother bought me a lunchbox, a Lone Ranger designed lunchbox, and I was proud to own it: yes indeed, very bigheaded about it, I suppose, if kids had heroes, and not absorptions, he was kind of my hero. And my mother would make my peanut butter sandwiches, from none other than Peter Pan Peanut Butter gars, not sure if they sell that kind anymore; then of course came Skippy Peanut butter down the lane, and a little computation [I was 9-years old then].

Then I think we went back and forth with which peanut butter was best for my lunchbox, I mean, it had to be the best for the Lone Ranger lunchbox, for I was carrying his symbol about (and I think I even had some kind of secret badge to a club of his if I recall right). And amongst those sandwiches, were a lone banana or apple, or orange, I hoped not the orange always, it was too messy, and I’d just stick a finger in it and such out all the juice, and go wash my hands. Thus, I preferred the banana.

Then my brother Mike and I would march on down to school, and when lunchtime came, I’d march on down to the basement of the 1886, schoolhouse, and eat lunch in the lunchroom. There were different times for lunch for different classes and grades, and so Mike being two grades higher than I, ate before me, and left school before me, at 2:00 PM, verses, my 4:00 PM. But I always prayed mom would forget to buy wax paper for the sandwiches, and have to give us .25-cents [or was it .15-cents?] for lunch: yes I preferred the hot lunch to the cold, although I liked bringing my Lone Ranger lunchbox.

If, in fact, anything, as I look back now, my mother (who has passed on ((July 1, 2003)), loved being a mom, I mean, she really did. I suppose the years of us boys in our teens got too her, as they do to most parents, if not all parents, but I think (as I now look back and review some old pictures), she just simply like being a mom; enjoyed it, love it. It was more than a job to her. She never had much in life, but she had that.

On Sundays, old Grandpa, Russian built, stout, would call up the family for afternoon dinner; it was always like a banquette it seemed. He was a good ole soul, just cursed with the wicked tongue a lot (as they say in Peru: he had hair on his tongue). He’d make the best Sunday dinners anyone could have imagined. And if the relatives would not come over to eat, God save their souls, he’d start to curse the Old Russian way, and it would go on eternally, or so it seemed. You’d think he was fifty feet tall, he was 4’11, yes, just under five foot, like my wife, and she thinks she’s fifty feet tall to. Anyhow they came, and what was left over: chicken or ham, we’d get in the lunches until doomsday [doomsday being, until there was no more of course]. I mean grandpa bought a 20-pound ham, two chickens, sausage, and the stove was cooking from midnight the day before until noon the following day, just before everyone sat down to eat on Sunday; sometimes his cooking pans he’d put in the oven, were so large, they barely fit.

But yes, yes undeniably, there was a problem though: when mom put the ham onto the sandwiches, and wrapped them in wax paper, by noon the following day, they’d be soggy, yes really, saggy as milk on breed, and you’d have to drag the meat off. But I never said anything, lest I end up with peanut butter five days in a row.

In the lunch room Linda MaCalley the eye catcher of the room, we had two grades in our room, and between thirty and forty students [big rooms, and lots of heads to look over, at and around], as I was about to say, Linda MaCalley, she was the prettiest one in class, and we sat together now and then, more than, than now, but it happened. I even levitra orosolubile stuck up for her once, that is, I was playing by her house one day, downtown St. Paul, after school, walked my friend Mike Reassert, his home (he and Linda lived by one another; we were all poor folks], and he said something about her and a fight started, I got the better of him, but she got to watch her hero fight for her. It didn’t lead to anything, but then the Lone Ranger’s followers couldn’t expect much, could they now? I had a reputation to uphold for him. He may have been my first hero, I’m not sure, but it is good to have good heroes to emulate. It delivers down the road of life. I don’t know much of Mr. Clayton Moore, whom was the actor in the movie [s], but I can say this, they don’t make his kind anymore. Nor would I care to have my children emulate any new actors of today, God help their souls should they. Anyhow, this is the tale, the story of my first lunchbox you could say, in those far of days of my youth.

In Spanish

By Nancy Penaloza

La Lonchera


Nosotros no siempre podíamos permitirnos los almuerzos calientes en la escuela de Saint Louis [en Saint Paúl, Minnesota] durante mis años elementales [formativos], por eso mi madre me compró una lonchera, una lonchera diseñada para un Guardabosques Solitario, y estuve orgulloso de poseerlo: sí, supongo, si los niños tuvieran héroes, y no absorciones, él era algo así como mi héroe. Mi madre prepararía mis emparedados de mantequilla de cacahuete, de ningún otro que de la Mantequilla de cacahuete de Peter Pan gars, dudo si ellos venden mas de esa clase; luego por su puesto vino la mantequilla de Skippy Penute sendero abajo, y un poco de evaluación [era yo, de 9 años].

Entonces creo que volvimos y con lo que en adelante la mantequilla de cacahuate fue lo mejor para mi lonchera, pienso, esto tuvo que ser lo mejor para la lonchera de un guardabosques Solitario, ya que yo llevaba su símbolo. Y entre aquellos emparedados, estaba un plátano solitario o la manzana, o la naranja, yo, no siempre esperaba la naranja, era demasiado sucia, y ya, me había pegado un dedo en ello y echando fuera todo el jugo, yendo a lavar mis manos. Más, preferí el plátano.

Entonces mi hermano Miguel y yo nos dirigíamos hacia la escuela, y cuando la hora del almuerzo llegaba, nos dirigíamos hacia el sótano de la escuela de 1886, para almorzar en el comedor. Había diferentes momentos para el almuerzo, por eso, Miguel por estar dos grados más adelante que yo comía , y dejaba la escuela antes que yo, a 2:00 de la tarde, contra, 4:00 de la tarde que lo hacia yo. ¿Pero yo siempre rogaba, que mamá olvidara de comprar el papel de cera para los emparedados, y tener que darnos .25 centavos [o era .15 centavos?] para el almuerzo: sí, prefería el almuerzo caliente al frío, aunque me gustara traer mi lonchera de Guardabosques Solitario.