There were 4 of us, left to prepare our own breakfast, and we were surprisingly well regimented. Our dad worked on the railroad, and mom was a secretary at the Veteran’s Administration. Mom would crank up the chevy and drive off before we fought over the bathroom. Sometimes the 4 of us would be in there together, the girls braiding hair, and me and my 4 year old brother brushing teeth. The bathroom was also the warmest room in the house in winter. Thinking back, it’s amazing that there was a time when responsible adults would trust things to go well with four kids under 8 years old left to fend for themselves, then walk the 3 blocks to school. We also would come home for lunch. Breakfast was always cereal with fruit. There was always Welch’s grape juice and orange juice (made from frozen concentrate). 2 half gallons of milk had to be retrieved from the milk box (we had a milk man) every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. It was really critical in winter, because the bottles would freeze and break if we forgot them. One thing I do recall is that the 4 of us would fry and consume enormous quantities of bacon. We would fry it up to go with the cereal, then at lunch fry up more for bacon sandwiches. We would drain the grease from the griddle, to save for cooking! Another thing I remember were my mom’s trips to the supermarket, when the trunk and back seat could be filled with bags of groceries at a cost of $20. Seriously, 2 cartloads. It was crucial that I accompany my mother, because left on her own, she never “brought home the bacon” (at least never enough). But the best breakfasts were in the summer on my dad’s days at home, because those were the days when we would walk to Pedersen’s bakery for danish the likes of which I haven’t taste since. We could pick out whatever we wanted. Then back home to bacon, danish and cold milk. Dad was the best! From him, the 4 of us inherited a serious sugar addiction. My mom, bless her perpetual cigarette smoking heart, was apparently unaware of the hazards involved with a bacon diet, but had no illusions about sugar. She would look at pop and say “Don’t fill these kids with sugar” as the Chesterfield smoke curled from her nose. (dad called her “the dragon” but never to her face). In the summer, we would be outside all over the neighborhood playing, but the first day of my dad’s 4 days off, we would all know to be home by noon. Then the pilgrimage to Pedersens, this time for cake, usually a 3 layered yellow cake with coconut frosting. We would come home, get the milk, and the 5 of us would devour THE ENTIRE THING. That was lunch, and it always ended with dad’s “now you know guys, there’s no need to worry your mother about our lunch”, at which point, four of our heads would swivel to face my little brother, who could not seem to appreciate the meaning of a secret. The area was then policed, and not a crumb nor shred of evidence was allowed visible. Dishes were washed dried, and shelved, and I personally would haul the huge cake box and string it was tied with to the 50 gallon drum outside that served as a trash burner (every household had one). Then light the trash, and watch the evidence vanish. Inevitably the dragon would arrive in the evening, while dad was usually cooking dinner. She would then immediately confront my brother with “What did you guys have for lunch?” And my poor brother, would proudly announce, beaming all the while ” We had a BIG cake and I ate lots!”