As I read what this author had to say on growing up in a New Jersey community not far from where I came up myself, I found myself resonation with her concepts. Some of my earliest memories of food is of eggs, I still on occasion when the memory creeps up in my mind enjoy a soft boiled but not runny egg with saltine crackers. I find that it is one of my earliest memories of food. The second would be of sauce, but that was happy. The other memories I have are not really great, I could see where my lonliness and sense of not being able to have due to not having enough money for other types of snacks that I might have wanted led to another type of misery and lonliness and a void that only food would fill.

As early as I can remember, food seemed to be something that was not only eaten in the means to survive. But also became one of enjoyment, a gelato or almond ice on serene day in Jersey seemed like miles away now. But back then it signified a treat, that was on the good days. The other days were what ever could be alloted for. Breakfast might have been a bowl of cereal before my mother got herself ready to go to work. She worked in a factory to support herself and me. My father was not in the picture in those years, she was also independent and it gave her a sense of accomplishment to not want or better yet not need his money.

It got the point across that he being a Italian male who thought that it would be his right to "be the man". Soon found out that the sturdy Italian married by mail bride was able to with stand many of lifes lessons on her own two feet. She came from old fashioned Sicilian parents, by maternal grandmother came from Madena pronunced (Ma-da-naa) with a long a sound. My grandfather came from Palermo, the most important thing was to survive in a time when survival was always the easiest. So when resources are scarce, times call for drastic measures.

Drastic measures meant you did not have excess, but had what you needed to survive and were happy about it. Many Italians especially those who came from the other side and more so the Southern Itailan found life difficult in those days, due to lack of work  and would eventually make the decision to leave family and come to the States. This was a place where relatives were finding the land of riches. So now living on my street as a young child, there was a grocery store. This was quite common as people did not quite have Super Markets. They would come latter, but the block store usually had anything from the necessities milk, bread, pasta, and other store brought products.

My mother had no choice to be frugal due to having to pay the bills, in those days the rent for a one bedroom was a lot less than it is today. The cost of living was much less, but for the time it covered what the cost of living was. I still was alone, it was another cost that my mother didn't have to cover, even though when I was younger the baby sitter costed very little it didn't matter it was still another amount that wasn't easy to cover and then pay a modest phone bill, I am sure there are some  of us that can still remember (Ma Bell). Then there was the Electric Company, that bill was also modest, but I do remember my one day introducing me to a bill. She said do you see those numbers on the bill, I was about 11 or 12 give or take. I said, "oh" she looked at me with stealthy eyes, as though to say what she wouldn't waste time to say, "do you understand"?

That was always her natural way, coarse. If you were looking for love you weren't going to find it in that resource. It was not to be found in plentiful supply, but in the same breathe it could be found in a sappy song. In front of me at times the ice berg, or what ever that seems strong would melt with certain songs, like "Jean", roses are red, the song always had a hidden strength that stung like the tears that were hidden in it's strength. It took a stealth person to over come many of the stigmas that were associated with being a "single mother". I assure you my mother met none of those standards. She was old fashioned as the day was long, she refused to shave her legs, as she believed that if God wanted to have no hair on your legs or underarms you would have been born that way.

She inherently did not trust people, as one of her favorite expressions was "each dog for themselves". I by contrast, trust most dogs, enjoy the company of dogs, and would pet strange dogs of course only by asking the person first. Getting back to the food tie in, well I was quickly developing a problem, at about the age of 11 or so. I was not sure about many things, never mind getting my peroid. But I am sure my body was aware, I was also running down the store, of course after finding "the source" a piggy bank made of amber colored clear pebbled glass that I could shake and make a coin come out.

So I would shake the little bank, of course upon my old fashioned mother from the Great Depression who worked hard for her money would find out. I would be dead, or at the least be wishing for such release. I mean I didn't know who I was or what I was experiencing just yet. It was really at times scarry, the whole concept of being a child in a very large world, but still just being small. By comparison, a younger child next door, maybe about 3 years not more was with out a mother. As it had been, one of those quiet conversations that adults have, with the bare essences of the meanings coming out just loud enough in ear shod, to hear the real message. Her mother apparently died of a illness, she had older siblings, and of in those days, things were marked with "the last" type of appeal. The "last" appeal in these terms were concieving a child latter in life.

She was a delightful person, who had a the luck of having many rude and rudimentary Aunts that came out as if they were goose down feathers that caught her after the awful tumble from the tree branch that gave her life proper holding. Her people owned the little grocer store, her grandfather was a artist, he painted many beautiful prints and still lifes. His work was kind of like Picaso's still lifes, beautiful and full ombre colors, dark and sanguid, not moody but pedestal pieces.

There were 3 aisles and a cold cut counter, they also sold other non-food items, but mainly they were a food store. I would sneak down the 3 flights of stairs, and  run and buy Oreo cookies, or some other snack food such as "Cheese Nibs", other items would range in such little snacks. There was no supervision, there was no sense of right or wrong, until one day when Mother went to check on her piggy bank and noticed that it wasn't as heavy as it once was. But by the same token, I was becoming surly, angry and wanting to know why my father wasn't around. I don't know about anybody to watch over me, as the concept is hard to fathom, when your a kid.

Which do you value more? what ever you want to do when you want to do it? or having a supervising hand tell you what to do and when to do it. From the point of view of the child, a child usually wants to do things when they want to do them. Other times having a person tell you when to do things requires that one be responsible for ones time. That is important, knowing that time is equivalent to what a person values most and the concept of self control were not taught as regular lessons. But more from the point of quantitive events that were life changing more often, other than sneaking snacks in, for a life with little substitute it would be safe to assume the resources I was handed were often coarse and stealth. Just like the solid hard stares that seperated fact from fiction, I eventually learned to understand that my love for food and my sense of lonliness would be early symtoms of being alone and not understanding how to draw responsible conclusions as to the concept as a whole.

Some children get the sense of responsibility that a parent has as far as responsibility goes. I did not, I would have been considered selfish, even bordering on spoiled but not that I knew that either. My mother was far too much from the Great Depression to make being spoiled a possibility. But from other peoples view points it may have been somewhat possible to imangine that I was spoiled. If a child doesn't have access to a sense of responsibility then it has to somehow manufacture a sense. I still don't understand how the mind works or looks to shelter it's feelings of desperation, fear, anxiety until those feelings are present.

The sense of reaching out for cheese doodles, or any other snack food, especially in those early pre-pubescent years is quite common. Even as women crave certain foods when it's that time of the month, are looking for comfort foods, chocolate, cake, a piece of candy and anything else that looks and feels good, ice-cream, if it' just one piece that will not do much harm, if it's a lot more then the pounds will begin to add up. I hope that in writing this, I could touch base with those cravings for structrued time and responsible actions that amount to people knowing why they are doing something rather than just doing something to do something. There is a difference, and doing rather than being are a great part of life and balance, work and  family. There are very little excuses  to be aware that being out of control has a price.