Nothing in my youth could ruin a perfect summer day like the words “back to school”. It wasn’t just because late nights with television, comic books, and backyard campouts followed by long lazy mornings of sleeping in, with sunny afternoons spent on the lake sandwiched in between the two, were coming to an end. It was the fact that the words “back to school” were always followed by “shopping”.
It was bad enough that classes were about to soak up all my free time, but to have to waste an additional day of my precious summer trying on clothes was adding insult to injury. I had creeks to play in, rafts to build, and that bike wasn’t going to ride itself. Didn’t they understand I had more important things to do?
There of course is a lesson in painful events. Mine in this case was confirming that I was not cut out to be a model. Considering my nickname was “Chunk” and this was before plus-sized models, it was never in the cards in the first place. All that changing of clothes. So tedious. So pointless. I always ended up with the same thing: husky jeans. For those not familiar, husky jeans were the equivalent of Big and Tall for kids who were big but not very tall.
Usually they had reinforced knees. This meant they came with the iron-on knee patches already installed. The thing is because they were ironed onto the fabric from the inside, they were always sticking to my sweaty knees. Why sweaty knees? See the above reference to qualifying for the nickname Chunk. It was sweat or pop like a tic.
Somewhere along the timeline the concept of reinforcing the knees was replaced by ripping them out. I had holes in my jeans in high school and college. But I came by those holes honestly. I just wore them out. Now people pay for the holes. A shame, really. Wearing them out by playing rough and wearing them out “organically” was so much fun, not to mention cheaper. Didn’t realize I was such a trend setter. How can I always be ahead of my time but never on time?
The only bright side to this annual summer-killing ritual was the selecting of the lunch box. They British have their boxing day and I had mine. I was the kid who always took his lunch to school. This started in the first grade and continued through my last day of high school with one exception.
During the last half of my sixth grade year, we moved and I found myself at a school where the lunchroom ladies cooked country style. Every day there were yeast rolls or biscuits baking. Our classroom was directly above the kitchen. Those were the days when you could open the windows on pleasant mornings. The smell of these baking beauties would float in and high jack our little attention spans. That fragrance was too much for we carb-fueled kids. I think the teacher may have been distracted by it as well. With something that good on the tray every day, the lunch box stayed in the garage.
Seventh grade meant anther new school where the fare wasn’t quite as addictive. That put me back in the market for another lunchbox.
Choosing a new lunchbox was not to be taken lightly. And I didn’t. Unlike choosing a breakfast cereal where if you picked a dud one week, you could give it another shot the next. And cereal, good or bad, never lasted more than a week when I was a kid. Again see the reference to the nickname above for clarification. But with a lunchbox, you only had one chance every twelve months to get it right.
The first lunchbox I had was a hand-me-down from my brother. Eight years my senior, he deemed himself too mature for such an accessory by the time I went to first grade. It was a Daniel Boone box from the Disney television show starring Fess Parker. Park would go on to buy a vineyard and open a winery in California. I would go on to a Peanuts lunchbox the next year. As big a Peanuts fan as I am, I think Fess got the better end of the deal.
I would have more Peanuts boxes both metal and plastic. Somewhere in the early days there was a “Julia” box from the television show of the same name. It seems there was also an “Emergency” one as well featuring the crew of Engine 51. I think I selected that one because it was my brother’s favorite show at the time and we would watch it together. It was one of the few things we could do with an eight year gap between us that didn’t lead to a fight. I also think it had something to do with his eventually becoming a nurse.
While most lunch boxes were retired after a year, the Daniel Boone and one of the metal Peanuts boxes lingered, likely for sentimental reasons. I would use them on occasion when I wanted a helping of nostalgia with my peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Even at the age of 10 I often longed for the “good ole days”.
I wish I still had both of them today. Not just because a Daniel Boone original metal box can go for as much as $255. Although, that’s as good a reason as any and certainly more bankable.
The big challenge with lunchboxes was the thermos. Back then they were lined with glass. Giving a glass lined thermos to a kid is the ver definition of built in obsolescence. That’s a fancy way of saying I would make a chocolate milk and glass slushy. There’s nothing quite so disappointing as shaking your thermos of chocolate milk and hear that slush sound. You think it’s because the milk is so cold it has ice in it. Pour it into the lid that doubled as a cup only to find you’re going thirsty at lunch. Rats!
The fact that the box latches were often unreliable didn’t help. Then not only would the thermos be totaled, but your lunch was on the ground as well. Peanut butter, jelly, and grit….tasty.
It was pointless to get a new liner. My folks knew I would only break it. So once it shattered, mom sent me packing with a lunch and milk money. I was actually good with that since it meant cold milk at lunch and more room in the box for food.
Hence the need for husky jeans...did I mention my nickname was “Chunk”?
