Those Were the Days

I miss plopping myself on the sofa, watching TV late at night, a gallon tub of premium, chocolate fudge, brownie, mint swirl, marshmallow, cashew ice cream in my lap; decadently swirling the spoon along the edges of the carton (because that's the softer part and it doesn't bend the utensil).

Longingly, I remember buckets of extra-crispy, double doughy, steaming-hot, deep-fried chicken with moist mashed potatoes drowning under a pond of gravy; a soft, warm, flaky, slightly browned, oversized biscuit to soak it all up.

As a child, before days when LDL and triglycerides mattered, I looked forward to Sunday breakfast. Together we sat for a sugar-laden, high caloric, feast prepared lovingly by Mom. So much food filled the kitchen that it covered the table, a small tray, and overflowed on to the turquoise Formica kitchen counter.

Our ritual commenced with eggs scrambled with salami and cheese - real cheese, not the low fat imitation - in puddles of butter. Sharing the plate would be three pancakes, with syrup (and butter); onion rolls, bagels, cream cheese (or butter); and hash browns (fried in butter). In the event we finished the meal with even a thimble full of space remaining in our bellies, it was filled with seven-layer chocolate cake and black and white cookies. One never knows how long it'll be until the next meal; better eat up.

I long for those simple days.

Yet, I don't miss the embarrassment of pants so stretched that buttons popped off in history class, or so tight on my portly legs that the seam split while playing tetherball; sending me crying across the playground, mortified as the other children laughed at me.

As a teen, the girls in my neighborhood conducted a survey as to who was the best looking boy. Richard Gast came in first; my face came in second. I have no interest in returning to times when I was described as, "a great personality with a nice face."

"Great personality" was a euphemism I detested.

I have no desire to return to times of avoiding doctors, finding excuses not to meet new people, suffering chest pains, steering clear of family reunions, shopping in husky sections - and living merely to overindulge in ice cream, fried chicken, and big buttery breakfasts.

I do miss those childhood tastes upon my tongue; a day doesn't pass when I don't mourn my mother. However, I'm happier now than I was back then.

That's important to remember.