Thursday June 19th, 1969
This morning I taught my two English classes. M.G., Edna, and I had lunch with the Harold Cummins. I got a letter from Mama today. She sent our Union People’s Bank statement. Ken was crying when I got him up this morning. He said, “I’m worried about lunch.” I told him, “Don’t worry you may have Sloppy Joes.” He said, “Yes, but they will have tomatoes with it.” M.G. told him that if he was in a Communist country he might have to eat bugs, and threatened to whip him if he didn’t shut up. Then Alan began to cry in sympathy.
Today’s entry starts off ho-hum. Dad and Mom eat lunch, get a letter, and get a bank statement. Only then does Mom reveal what happened earlier that turned her world and mine upside down.
Let us start with some background. Several days before at my school cafeteria, where you had to clean your plate, an incident took place. Let me be clear on this subject, I AM NOT A PICKY EATER! I know what I want and would really rather not be served anything else. I will be polite in my refusal but refuse nonetheless. Curry, the hated Asian food, has been my nemesis for many years. (See earlier blog post) The school cafeteria saw fit not only to serve this vile dish, but try to make me eat every bite. I promptly choose to show anyone who would look the contents of my stomach. Mom, to her credit, was trying to find something positive about my upcoming lunch and I quickly veered to the negative. Dad tried to use a two pronged attack, consumption of insects and/or bodily harm. Alan saw an opportunity to skip school and began to gnash his teeth.
Long story short, we went to school.