Hot Lunch

Hot Lunch

Noel Laflin

9-10-18

There was one benefit to my father being laid-off long ago – and that was coming home to a hot lunch every day.

As it only took ten minutes to ride my bike from school to home, and then another ten minutes back to beat the bell, this meant that I had forty minutes to chow down with my dad at the kitchen table.

He did a lot of odd jobs during the lay-off, but always made time to be home in time to fix me a meal.

It was frequently left-over’s doctored up in some dad-fashion. I remember my mother’s enchiladas being a favorite re-heat. When all else failed, there were always Sloppy Joes or grilled cheese sandwiches to fill the bill. He was also a fan of soup.

Then it was a hurried ‘thank you,’ a peck on the cheek, and a mad dash back to fifth grade. And it was frequently my mother blowing the whistle at me as I skidded willy-nilly, one-legged into the bike stands. She had become a teacher’s aide at our school to help supplement the family income and patrolled the playground like a hawk, looking for rule-breakers like me. I never failed her in that regard.

Looking back on it now, I realize that my father needed some order and purpose to his life during that time. He needed a regimen to fill those days while searching for a new job. I would know the drill several times over later in life.

But my being ten-years old and hungry – and willing to ride home for a hot lunch every day, gave him just one more reason to get up and face each new day.

By sixth grade, I was back to sack lunches.