What's for Lunch?

 The lunch box.

Physical memories and personal fashion statements of youth. The square, but not quite square of metal emboldened with technicolor designs of the hottest thing on the block. They were as much a conversation piece as a carrier for food. You knew in a matter of seconds who liked the same TV series or music as you. Did they watch Super Friends, Scooby-Doo or The Six Million Dollar Man? Perhaps KISS or The Partridge Family were their musical jam? It was the first example of a status update before social media was even a thought.

Inside each embossed tin was a thermos that kept things neither hot nor cold nor safe. Then again, the safe part might have been due to lunch box races; the starting gun firing as soon as someone yelled “Go!” and ending when the flung mealtime repository skidded past the end of the farthest classroom. The advent of plastic lunch boxes put the kibosh on the sport due to the general lack of good friction. Plus, the muffled bump along the linoleum tiles didn’t have the same ear-splitting screech of their metallic predecessors.

Sandwich bags with double-folded tops held the daily repast in semi-sealed seclusion. Chips and an apple or whichever fruit was available were blanketed lovingly by a peanut butter and jelly delight on whatever bread Mom grabbed in the morning. Unless Dad helped; in which case, it was rye. Always rye. 

Yup. I grew up eating PB&J on rye bread.

I think that explains a lot about me at times.

So back to the lunch box. The first one I remember was Hong Kong Phooey. Yes, I’m that old. I wasn’t a fan of the bright orange container, so I raced it. A lot. All the while hoping Mom would see its tattered and battered state and let me get a new one. Sadly, that wretched box was nearly indestructible. Finally, near June, it gave up the ghost. It wouldn’t be until I was an adult that Mom confided in me that she’d always plan on getting my brother and I new lunch boxes at the start of each new school year. Also, she admitted she grabbed whatever was left.

Sometimes, the only available choices were cutesy with characters like Holly Hobbie or Barbie on them. (Thank the gods, Mom only tormented me with only one pink Barbie lunch box in the third grade.) After that phase, when my brother and I were consulted on the selections, it was all about Buck Rogers and Battle of the Planets. Later, Star Wars and Battlestar Galactica were added to the nerdy repertoire. Now, those beauties were definitely not race worthy; those were cherished museum pieces.

Send your shiny black case with Luke and Leia skidding along the ground? Perish the thought. Hell, I think I actually would set my jacket on the dingy tiles before allowing my pristine container to touch the floor. 

Eventually, the conversation pieces were no longer cool to carry once high school rolled around and “brown bagging it” began. Lunch shifted from in-depth dialogues surrounding last night’s episode of Knight Rider to who’s the cutest boy in class. Not wanting to be more of a social outcast than I already felt like I was, I did my best to engage in this new, superficial connection. 

I do miss those simpler lunch times. Every once in a while, I see an old friend appear on eBay and I’m curious to take a peek at the bottom. You know, just to check out its racing history.