I came from a family of after dinner snackers. It wasn’t that we were overeaters or had insatiable appetites; it was because we had a “depression mom.” Mom wasn’t depressed, far from it, but she grew up during the depression. Food was scarce and you had to stretch your meals while she was growing up. While I was growing up food was not scarce, but mom still prepared dinners as if they were.
For a family of five (including three growing boys) there was never enough dinner for seconds. Even the first round was barely enough to satisfy our large appetites. The result of having a “depression mom” was sometime after dinner we were all starving and needed to raid the refrigerator.
The daily waiting game in our house after dinner, while watching TV, was who could take the hunger no more and had to get up for a snack.
Generally it was me.
AS I pulled myself out of my chair and headed to the kitchen I was assaulted with the same questions. First my older brother Chris asked,
“Where you going?”
“Ah…to the kitchen.”
“While you’re up could you make me one to?”
“You going to get anything to drink with the PBJ?”
“Can you get me a glass too…while you’re up?”
I hated to give up a glass of milkshake. I was planning to drink the whole Waring Blender’s worth.
Dad always wanted the same thing.
“Can you get me a liverwurst sandwich? You know…as long as you’re up.”
I hated the smell of liverwurst. It almost made me hurl.
“Oh and how about a glass of root beer…with ice…while you’re up.”
Then the hunger pangs hit my oldest brother Jim, “Hey Joe, can you heat up some chili from the can for me…As long as you’re up?... and a glass of milk. While you’re up”
“OK, why not?”
I would miss an entire episode of “The Brady Bunch” putting together snacks because I was up, and I never learned.
I was always up first.