Saturday, September 17, 2005


My son has been doing well with his new found latchkey responsibilities.

I am so proud of him. I remember what it was like being given the key to our apartment when I was 10 or so. We lived catty-corner from our elementary school and my brother and I went home for lunch. I remember waiting for him and walking across the streets (for Brooklynites: the intersection of Albemarle Road and McDonald Avenue, the Kensington neighborhood. It was PS 230). We crossed McDonald and then, Albemarle.

Inside the apartment, we checked the fridge: Mom had left us a lunch-- a sandwich each and we could drink milk or water and have fruit or cookies or whatever. Sometime between getting home and finishing eating, my mom would call and talk to us. One time she didn't call right when I expected her and I dialed her at work...and this was the first time I experienced connecting without a ring...she'd been trying to call us at the exact same time!

I remember one time when she didn't have time to leave something prepared, so I made us cream cheese & jelly sandwiches, my brother's favorite.

Before that year, my grandmother, who lived across the street took us in for lunch, but I think that arrangement made us all unhappy. I also tried eating a school lunch a few times. They put stuff in the egg salad that made me want to puke (green peppers and onions). And celery in the tuna salad. And they cut the oranges in quarters--but not sliced.

Yuck. Sometimes I took my lunch. But it was still not as much fun as coming home for lunch and being grown-up.

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