I don’t know if this blog post is about milk, or first grade memories. You will have to decide for yourself, I reckon, and then comment accordingly!
First, about milk. I love milk. It is my favorite drink in the whole world. I drink it at breakfast, at lunch, at dinner and sometimes I even have a glass with a snack.
I have not always had this close relationship with milk. Growing up, I never drank it. We rarely ever had it in our house. My dad, the grocery shopper, did not drink milk. So, he bought canned evaporated milk for mom to add to her coffee or to reconstitute for a recipe.
When I was a senior in high school, Brian remembers coming to the house one morning to see me before school and was shocked and a bit creeped out that I had toast and eggs with a tall glass of Pepsi for breakfast!
At some point after we were married and I was pregnant, Brian convinced me that a glass of milk every once in a while would be “good for me and the baby.” And, so, I began my love affair with milk.
So, now to my first-grade memory. I bought the school cafeteria lunch everyday. Back then, students didn’t get to chose what to get on their trays, they simply got whatever was served that day – a mystery meat, vegetable, fruit and milk. The milk came automatically. But, I never drank my milk because I didn’t drink milk. I didn’t like milk. I never even opened the carton. Sometimes I traded it or just gave it to someone else to drink, but most days, it got thrown away.
Now, after lunch, we got to go outside to play. Ergo, the quicker we finished lunch, the sooner we played.
One day, my first grade teacher, Mrs. Biddleman, who sat at our lunch table with her class, usually across from me so she could keep an eye on me, decided that I should drink my milk. “Think of all those poor starving kids in China,” she said.
“I don’t like milk,” I said. “It makes me sick.” “The kids in China can have it.”(Well, I can’t remember our exact words, but it went something like that)
I’m sure I said something sarcastic that pissed her off, because she informed me that I could not go out to recess until I drank my milk. Now, somewhere in my six year old logic, this was wrong. How could she insist that I drink something that I didn’t want, didn’t like and had bought and paid for with my own (well, with my parents’) money? So, we sat. And, sat. And all the other kids in first through third grades ate their lunches and went outside to play. And, finally recess was over and everyone went back to class. It was then that I got to throw my milk in the trash and go back to class. Triumph! Or so I thought, as the next day, Mrs. Biddleman and I sat alone in the cafeteria for an entire recess once again, while all the good boys and girls got to go outside. But, I had my principles, dammit! When she did it to me for the third day, I began to worry. I worried mostly that I’d drink my milk and barf. Boy, that would sure show her! But, by the following week, Mrs. Biddleman had tired of this little exercise in six year-old mind control and gave up. I am proud to say that I never caved.
To this day, I am very picky about my milk and there are certain brands I refuse to drink. All milk is not the same! My favorite milk is Publix store brand. I like the ½ percent milk best, but if I can’t get that, I will drink 1 percent or 2 percent, too. I’m the one at the grocery store going through all the milk on the shelf to get the freshest one, too. Brian is trained to do the same.
I guess I’m a milkaholic. That’s the first step, isn’t it?
