Posted in Dad

Hamburger Helper

Daily writing prompt
Which food, when you eat it, instantly transports you to childhood?

I can’t remember the last I ate it, but Hamburger Helper transports me to my childhood.

General Mills introduced Hamburger Helper in 1971, and our family was immediately on board. I was in middle school that year, and my younger sister and brother were both in elementary school. We were all old enough for my mom, a nurse, to go back to work on weekends. That meant Dad was in charge of making supper.

It’s not that Dad was a bad cook. He just had a limited repertoire.

  • Beef Noodle Hamburger Helper
  • Potato Stroganoff Hamburger Helper
  • Cheeseburger Macaroni Hamburger Helper
  • Hash Hamburger Helper
  • Chili Tomato Hamburger Helper
  • Rice Oriental Hamburger Helper

From time to time, there was no Hamburger Helper in the pantry. No problem. Dad browned hamburger, mixed it with brown gravy made from a packet of gravy mix, and serve it over reconstituted freeze-dried mashed potatoes.

Plus, it was cheap. The original price of a box of Hamburger Helper was 65 cents. A pound of hamburger was about the same. Feed the family for $1.30? Nice.

We did try Tuna Helper. It was the same concept, substituting a can of tuna for the pound of hamburger. We only tried it once.

Not only is Hamburger Helper the food that instantly transports me to my childhood, but it is the top memory I have of my Dad.

“Hamburger Helper helps her hamburger help her make a great meal!”

Posted in books

A favorite book: Ripley’s Believe It or Not!

Daily writing prompt
Do you remember your favorite book from childhood?

I was just thinking about childhood books a few days ago. One of my grandsons asked, “Can we go to ‘Ripley’s Believe it or Not!’ again?” My wife and I took them to the first permanent odditorium in St. Augustine last summer. The older boy loved it. The younger was too weirded out to make it through the whole museum.

When he asked his question, I had a flashback to my childhood. Some of my favorite books were the Ripley’s Believe It or Not! paperbacks. I think my mom bought me a couple of them at a church rummage sale. I would lay on my bed and read those books over and over again, long before that first attraction opened. I was fascinated by drawings of the world’s tallest man, a goat with two heads, a tree growing through a house, and pages of amazing things.

A close second would be a World War two comic book about air battles in the south Pacific. The only thing I remember is the words used for the sound of the guns: “budda-budda-budda!” So my brother, sister, and I would call this the budda-budda book.

I must have really liked Hardy Boys mysteries, too. I remember checking them all out one at a time from the library.

Posted in Christmas

A Christmas memory I don’t remember

I was looking for something else on my computer when I came across this picture from a 1958 Christmas, gleaned from a collection of my dad’s slides. That’s the one-and-a-half me in the red jumpsuit. That’s my mom sitting in the chair, and I’m pretty sure that’s her dad on the left.

My gifts included a ball, a train building set, and a classic Lassie dog. But in this moment, I was all about the red balloon on which my mom must have drawn something.

I think this is my grandparents house in northeast Philadelphia. The live tabletop tree, carefully decorated with individual strands of tinsel, is encircled by an O-gauge Lionel electric train. A tiny nativity on the table is surrounded by a little host of angels.

Mom’s ever-present ashtray and cup of coffee are perched on the arm of her chair. I’ll bet I’m the reason why she looks weary on this Christmas morning. She was twenty-four in this picture.

My earliest memories come from when I was six years old. This is a Christmas flashback by virtue of the fact that my dad caught it on film. This Christmas memory is one I don’t remember. These pictures tell my story, a story that fascinates me.

My dad’s slides included three or four pictures from each Christmas. Not many compared to the dozens of digital photos we take every year. But enough to make me want to sift through them to learn more about my childhood, memories I don’t remember.

Posted in memories

What did we do all summer?

I’m a boomer who grew up in the suburbs of Philadelphia. My dad left for work at 6 am and got home at 6 pm for supper. My mom was a pretty typical housewife, cooking, cleaning, sewing, reading and making sure the three of us (my brother, sister and I) didn’t kill each other. But I don’t remember her entertaining us all day. She pretty much wanted us to stay out of her hair.

Plus, it’s the 1960’s and 70’s. No iPhones. No computers. No internet. No videos, no DVDs, No VHS, no CDs. No cable TV. Our family TV didn’t even have UHF capability. Our black and white TV could pull in four TV stations from the roof antenna. One of them, channel 12, was PBS (Public Broadcasting System). I even remember that channel three was NBS, channel 6 was ABC, and channel 10 was CBS. Daytime TV was mostly soap operas (yawn).

What in the world did we do all day? What did we do all summer?

We played outside. We had a big backyard, big enough to play catch with a baseball. If we could find a third, we played “run the bases”, trying to slide in safely and steal a base. If you were alone, you played wall-ball in the driveway, throwing the ball at the wall and either catching it or hiding when it hit the neighbor’s house. I don’t know how my parents endured the constant thud-thud-thud of hours of wall-ball.

At least once a week we would jump our back yard fence into some private property that was basically a massive un-mown field owned by Boeing. The plant had long since closed, so no one was there. With a bucket of baseballs, we would hit fungos, field fly balls, and then peg throws home to the plate. The hitter had to quickly transition from batter to catcher. We lost a lot of balls in the long grass, but would find them again when someone occasionally mowed the field.,

One summer, we took the 4×8 piece of plywood that we had used for a model train setup and made a ping pong table. It was on the small side, but it worked for our basement. We painted it blue because my dad had come leftover blue paint. We lined the edges and center line with white tape. We added a net, ping pong balls and paddles, and we were all set. We played many, many games with spins and slams, just about the time President Nixon’s ping-pong diplomacy was a thing.

We also had a dart board. We hung it on the concrete block wall of the basement, which was soon surrounded with hundreds of marks from darts that missed the board altogether. Why so many misses? We wound up and tried to throw them at the board as hard as we could.

A big amusement was Strat-O-Matic baseball. Strat-O-Matic baseball was a game played with Major League Baseball player cards and dice. You set a line up, rolled the dice, and the card for each player would tell you the out or hit result of that at-bat. OMG, we played that game for hours and hours, summer after summer. We had current teams. We had classic teams like the 1927 New York Yankees or the 1954 Philadelphia Phillies. We kept box scores. We compiled statistics. We typed up the stats. We were into it.

When the heat or summer showers kept us inside, we would pretend we had a restaurant, the Historian. We used mom’s old manual typewriter to type up menus featuring outrageous entrees with outrageous prices, and then pretend to be either waiters, cooks or diners.

We took a lot of bike rides. I had a 26-in one-speed Schwinn. My best friend had a ten-speed Schwinn Stingray. We would go out for hours, riding all over Delaware County.

One summer my dad put in an above-ground pool, which occupied us on all the hot days.

Once I got to Junior High School, there was a summer band program for a month or two. I loved summer band. It’s still a favorite part of my childhood memories. Combined with some high school students, we mostly just played through all kinds of concert and jazz band arrangements. I learned a lot of classic marches, show tunes and big band pieces during those years.

I still smile when I remember how I spent my summers fifty-plus years ago. Mom was blessed, too, because most of the time we stayed out of her hair.