School lunch has come up twice this week and I miss it. Our high school may have not been updated since the 50s (fallout shelters anyone?) but our school lunch was awesome.
The highlight of my high school cafeteria were the french fries and gigantic chocolate chip cookies. Germana ate this every day for lunch. Sometimes she would add an Italian sub to the mix. I would usually eat the "crust" of Germana's cookie because she liked the middle part with 10 sticks of butter.
Next we had the hot lunch. This changed daily and people went crazy over a McRib like sandwich.
Then we had subs. Usually turkey, Italian or ham and cheese. All pretty good. I usually went with the turkey.
If you wanted pasta we had the pasta station where you could get pasta with tomato sauce or mac and cheese where you could ladle on the cheese yourself. Disgusting to think about but really delicious. This also came with bread.
Last but not least was the snack shack. Want a churro? You can get that! We also had vending machines with soda, juice and snacks.
I'm sure if I went back to Waltham High today the french fries and giant cookies would be gone because we're trying to fight childhood obesity. But the funny thing it most people in my school were a normal weight. Something has changed besides our diets. I'm guessing we were more active. It took a long time for the AOL dial up to work.
My mother was also pretty healthy when it came to food shopping. We didn't have soda or chips unless it was a special occasion. So at home I was not eating junk. And being friends with Germana I got tons of homemade Italian food. YUM. I highly recommend befriended someone with Italian parents. I mean Germana was ok to hang out with too.
My point here is that I wish there was a cafeteria like this at my work and I'm a bit sad that the french fries are probably gone from Waltham high. Oh and eat lots of fresh pasta.
Showing posts with label Waltham. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Waltham. Show all posts
Tuesday, August 14, 2012
Monday, March 12, 2012
The time I accused my neighbor of eating his dog
When I was ten years old I accused my neighbor of eating his dog. I still stand by that accusation.
I grew up in a city right outside of Boston called Waltham. My neighborhood was very diverse. There were a lot of Mexicans and Puertro Ricans in my neighborhood. I ate some good food let me tell you. My neighborhood was pretty safe. My mother would allow my brother and I to walk to our friend's houses since most of them lived on our street or around the block. No one bothered me except for one neighbor. Mr. Camacho.
Mr. Camacho was a fat Mexican guy who was always sitting on his front porch. I would walk by to get to my friend's house and never bothered him. For some reason he started yelling at me whenever I'd walk by.
"Hey you stupid cracker!"
"You're so white you glow in the dark!"
"Stupid white girl!"
I was ten years old. I never did anything to him but walk by his house. Apparently I wasn't the only white kid he yelled at in my neighborhood. He would shout at all of us. We were all stupid crackers.
My friend's parents were made aware of this and started standing out on their porch to keep an eye on Mr. Camacho. Mr. Camacho didn't care. He would still yell at us and so my friend's parents started yelling at him from their porch. Porch wars! This should be a show.
The Camacho's had a ton of animals in their back yard. They had chickens, bunnies, birds and they had a dog named Chewy. I was out playing in my back yard one day with my brother (which abutted the Camacho's yard) and I started hearing all this squawking and then there were feathers everywhere. The Camacho's were throwing their chickens against their garage to try to kill them. I was horrified and ran crying to my mom. She walked into the backyard, saw what was happening and called the police. The police came over and told the Camacho's that they couldn't kill chickens like that. They were dead at that point and they ate them for dinner.
After the chicken incident I noticed more animals going missing. All the bunnies were gone, then the birds. Finally Chewy, the dog was gone. Mr. Camacho continued his racist rantings and one day I had enough. I turned to him and yelled.
"You ate your dog!"
Then I ran into my friend's house. I didn't want to wait for the response.
To be fair, the Camacho kids loved that dog so I can't imagine that they ate their dog. He probably died of old age. But the dog's name was Chewy...
Mr. Camacho didn't say much after that. If he did I would stick my tongue out and keep walking. I don't think my mother knew of Mr. Camacho's racist comments. I was afraid she wouldn't let me walk around the block if she did.
I grew up in a city right outside of Boston called Waltham. My neighborhood was very diverse. There were a lot of Mexicans and Puertro Ricans in my neighborhood. I ate some good food let me tell you. My neighborhood was pretty safe. My mother would allow my brother and I to walk to our friend's houses since most of them lived on our street or around the block. No one bothered me except for one neighbor. Mr. Camacho.
Mr. Camacho was a fat Mexican guy who was always sitting on his front porch. I would walk by to get to my friend's house and never bothered him. For some reason he started yelling at me whenever I'd walk by.
"Hey you stupid cracker!"
"You're so white you glow in the dark!"
"Stupid white girl!"
I was ten years old. I never did anything to him but walk by his house. Apparently I wasn't the only white kid he yelled at in my neighborhood. He would shout at all of us. We were all stupid crackers.
My friend's parents were made aware of this and started standing out on their porch to keep an eye on Mr. Camacho. Mr. Camacho didn't care. He would still yell at us and so my friend's parents started yelling at him from their porch. Porch wars! This should be a show.
The Camacho's had a ton of animals in their back yard. They had chickens, bunnies, birds and they had a dog named Chewy. I was out playing in my back yard one day with my brother (which abutted the Camacho's yard) and I started hearing all this squawking and then there were feathers everywhere. The Camacho's were throwing their chickens against their garage to try to kill them. I was horrified and ran crying to my mom. She walked into the backyard, saw what was happening and called the police. The police came over and told the Camacho's that they couldn't kill chickens like that. They were dead at that point and they ate them for dinner.
After the chicken incident I noticed more animals going missing. All the bunnies were gone, then the birds. Finally Chewy, the dog was gone. Mr. Camacho continued his racist rantings and one day I had enough. I turned to him and yelled.
"You ate your dog!"
Then I ran into my friend's house. I didn't want to wait for the response.
To be fair, the Camacho kids loved that dog so I can't imagine that they ate their dog. He probably died of old age. But the dog's name was Chewy...
Mr. Camacho didn't say much after that. If he did I would stick my tongue out and keep walking. I don't think my mother knew of Mr. Camacho's racist comments. I was afraid she wouldn't let me walk around the block if she did.
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