Packin'

As a kid, the worst time of the year was the last ebbing days of summer just prior to the Labor Day holiday. You knew it was trouble when the parental units would shepherd you into the car for the back-to-school-shopping outing. We'd always go to Lerner's (a local children's clothing store) for our fall wardrobe staples and then a sideline to K-Mart for our school supplies. We were there not to make any selections but rather to be positioned while clothes were held up against us and to push the cart while ten packs of Ticonderoga #2 pencils and notebooks were added to the shopping basket. Not one bit of this ritual carried any level of enjoyment for us kids save one aspect: we were allowed to chose our very own lunchbox for the year.

In those days the lunch box carried the same status as say, a designer handbag carries now. You had to choose judiciously and I remember stalking up and down the store aisle, carefully considering all the technicolor choices available to me. This was well before the day of the velcro, padded and high end cooling system models that kids carry today. The lunch box of the early 70s was invariably metal with flimsy hinges and included a small thermos that clamped to the interior wall of the lunchbox. The themes of the lunchboxes focused heavily on television shows or on teeny bopper heartthrobs. Choosing the right one was a heady decision for a kid; you'd be saddled with this choice (and the possible derision as consequence of your choice) all year long.

When I went to chose my very first lunch box, I wanted something really cool. I was hoping to find a lunchbox based on one of the following television shows: "The Banana Splits," "The Bugaloos," "Here Comes The Brides," or "The Monkees". Unfortunately, when I got to the store and searched my choices, there were very few options left. I had only "The Man From U.N.C.L.E.," "Lancelot Link-Secret Agent Chimp" and "Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea." I sort of liked the killer red squid on the Voyage lunchbox so I settled for it. And let's put it this way--it did not raise my status very much in that first year. Apparently, only geeks watched "Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea."

The following year, I planned much more prudently. I got to the store early and found a much coveted "Josie & The Pussycats" lunchbox. That raised my bank considerably. In the years that followed, I had many other lunch boxes. I even migrated to the plastic versions that eventually replaced its metal sisters. What I remember about the original lunch boxes most was the distinctive ripe smell they would acquire by the end of the school week. Or that no matter how much you washed the thermos, it always had the whiff of milk that had exceeded its expiration date. Still, the lunch box was considered the first metric of one's status and even a form of personal expression. I sometimes wish I had one now. I'm thinking about buying one, maybe with ninjas on it. Yeah, that would make a nice statement.

Do you remember your first lunch box?