Dessert at Our House
By Nancy Aronie
Dessert at our house was… almost non existent. Sometimes on Sunday nights we had something my mom called, Sunday night upside cake. It had pineapple rings at the bottom. It was very moist and maybe yellow; probably not a package. But, all the other nights were arid dessert empty. Once in a great while we had raspberry J-E-L-L-O, canned fruit cup. I’m thinking now why my sister and I fought over the pale, watery, half-cherry that had nothing to do with cherries.
What I do remember was the empty bag of Lorna Doones on the kitchen table when my father had a freak out. "Who ate the last Lorna Doone?" he screamed. My sister had a few extra pounds on her, being a brand new teen and all, and I was skin and bones. I immediately jumped in with, "I did daddy." It didn’t help. Grounded wasn’t a word that was used then, but shame and humiliation were loud and clear. In retrospect, I'm not sure how many had dessert in the fifties. Money was short, parents were exhausted and having a treat wasn’t even part of life in the duck and cover era.
Now I order my hot fudge sundae first. Before dinner. With real whipped cream. Hold the cherry.