{"id":156,"date":"2010-04-03T05:14:54","date_gmt":"2010-04-03T12:14:54","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/triciatierneyblog.com\/?p=156"},"modified":"2010-04-03T05:14:54","modified_gmt":"2010-04-03T12:14:54","slug":"the-importance-of-lunch","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"http:\/\/triciatierneyblog.com\/?p=156","title":{"rendered":"The Importance of Lunch"},"content":{"rendered":"

The tiled walls of the PS 95 lunchroom magnified the roar of children\u2019s voices. When the allotted eating time was up, we were herded out into the fenced-in tarmac.\u00a0 The schoolyard. Venturing beyond the chain link fence was forbidden. The yard held no swings, slides, benches \u2013 only three basketball hoops without nets and in the opposite corner, fading lines for stickball games. A \u2018thonk, thonk\u2019 of Spaldings against the school\u2019s brick walls punctuated the chorus of yelling children. Swarms of kids chased each other across the yard while others in small groups or alone, sat along the perimeter of the fence, using their metal lunch boxes for seats.\u00a0 My friends and I hated recess and by 5th<\/sup> grade, our little group, too far away to go home for lunch, had schemed a daily escape.<\/p>\n

Initially we ate in the laundry room of a nearby apartment building. Entering by the service door, we followed the sound of rushing water, down the labyrinthine hall to a steamy room with six washing machines and three dryers. We tossed our wooly coats on top of a humming dryer and climbed onto a machine or sat perched between laundry baskets on the lone bench.\u00a0 Girls were not allowed to wear pants to school, so we\u2019d carefully tuck our hems around our knees while devouring our peanut butter or bologna sandwiches.\u00a0 There were three or four of us: usually Phyllis, Zeena, Denise and me. When weather permitted, we vied with the Yiddish-speaking seniors for benches in the stretch of green beside the reservoir. In fifth or sixth grade, Elise, a diminutive, strawberry blond with freckles like me, invited us to eat our brown bag lunches at her house.<\/p>\n

She lived in one of the towering apartment buildings a block from school. On days when the wind blew fierce across the reservoir, the walk felt interminable as we chattered and laughed, clutching our coats tight.\u00a0 We followed our friend into the warmth of her lobby and took the elevator up to her apartment.\u00a0 No one was home at Elise\u2019s house. Unlocking the door, she welcomed us into her quiet, sunny apartment, into the kitchen where we each had a chair at the table, like honored guests \u2013 no: like family.\u00a0 To all of us, it felt like home.<\/p>\n

The school bus ride from my apartment building at the far end of Van Cortlandt park to this neighborhood by the reservoir was the full length of a city bus line \u2013 starting a block from my building and ending near PS 95 \u2013 too great a distance to travel to hang out regularly with my school friends. Weekends, after-school and summers were spent with my friends-by- circumstance, kids from my block and apartment building. My school friends and I were friends by choice.\u00a0 We were all \u00a0smart kids who liked to make each other laugh. I recall no memory of meanness between us.<\/p>\n

Observing my daughter\u2019s friendships through recent years, I am reminded of the cruelty that girls (including myself \u2013 memories of shame) are capable of and realize how sweet our little lunchtime group was.\u00a0 And how generous Elise and her family were to let us descend upon their house each day.<\/p>\n

I lost touch with these girls when I went off to a different junior high school and then moved out of state. Lacking the means of connectedness that our children have, my friends faded into memories that only now, over 40 years later, are coming back into focus. Although I am not usually one to knock on doors of the past, I did not hesitate to send Elise, our kind host, a message when I came across her profile on a PS 95 alumni page. There was a third name added to the name I knew, but I was sure it was my old friend.\u00a0 Her Facebook page indicates she is a fan of my favorite off-beat public radio station, of Van Cortlandt park and that her political bent is left. Chances are, if I met her today, I would still want her for my friend.\u00a0 I sent her a message and she answered within the day \u2013 excited to hear from me.\u00a0 A few exchanged messages \u2013 short summaries of where we live, ages of kids, and we agreed to get together \u2013 to try and bridge those 40 + years since sharing lunch together, in person.\u00a0 We\u2019ll meet somewhere in between our suburban homes now far from the Bronx, to catch up on life.\u00a0 I will insist on buying lunch.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

The tiled walls of the PS 95 lunchroom magnified the roar of children\u2019s voices. When the allotted eating time was up, we were herded out into the fenced-in tarmac.\u00a0 The schoolyard. Venturing beyond the chain link fence was forbidden. The yard held no swings, slides, benches \u2013 only three basketball hoops without nets and in … Continue reading The Importance of Lunch<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":false,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","default_image_id":0,"font":"","enabled":false},"version":2}},"categories":[3,1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-156","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-days-of-light","category-uncategorized"],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/pPzTS-2w","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_likes_enabled":true,"jetpack-related-posts":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/triciatierneyblog.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/156","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/triciatierneyblog.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/triciatierneyblog.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/triciatierneyblog.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/triciatierneyblog.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=156"}],"version-history":[{"count":3,"href":"http:\/\/triciatierneyblog.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/156\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":159,"href":"http:\/\/triciatierneyblog.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/156\/revisions\/159"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/triciatierneyblog.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=156"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/triciatierneyblog.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=156"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/triciatierneyblog.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=156"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}