7th Grade Peanut Butter Memories

Why do mundane childhood memories stay with us all our lives while the really important stuff is hard to recall? It was March 1966 and I was in 7th grade at Marina del Rey Junior High School in Mar Vista (West Los Angeles), California. It was 10:15am and time for the mid-morning break between classes. We were big kids now so they didn’t call it “Recess” anymore. We didn’t play Four-Square or Dodge Ball in the school yard as we did in grade school. Now the whole mass of us just hung out at the lunch area to shoot the bull (chat) and grab a snack. The morning break period was known by the highbrow name, “Nutrition.” 

I was a new altar boy and I served the 6:30 Mass that morning, which was still in Latin at my parish, St. Gerard Majella. “Itroibo ad altare Dei. A Deum qui laetificat juventutem meum.” Yeah, I was a public school CCD kid but I somehow got snagged into serving Mass, and my easy facility with Latin, plus my willingness to wake up early, really impressed my parish priests. After the liturgy, I quickly rode my Schwinn bike from the church to my school, which was about a twenty-minute ride in the biting chill of that early Southern California spring. But because of the Eucharistic fast (three hours at that time, I think), I did not have breakfast, and I was starved. 

I stood in line at the cafeteria and weighed my options. I only had $2.00 in my pocket and that was for lunch. I had already planned to get a hamburger, chips and milk for the Noon meal, and that cost $1.50, so I only had 50 cents to spend on Nutrition. 50 cents! What could I possibly buy for half a dollar? 

Scrambled eggs and rolls were out of my price range. The only thing I could afford was a lowly Peanut Butter & Jelly Sandwich. I hated PJB, but what other option did I have? I was so starved I would have been happy to suck a lemon. Reluctantly, I plunked down my two quarters, grabbed the Saran-wrapped sandwich, and found an empty seat at a lunch table. 

I unwrapped my sandwich and stared at it for a few seconds. Wheat bread. Yuck! I preferred white bread. A thick layer of peanut butter. Double yuck! My PJBs at home were just a thin spread of the peanut stuff. And a gross slab of strawberry jam on top. What had I done? I slowly took a bite and . . . wonder of wonders, miracle of miracles! It was absolutely delicious! 

I started slowly but ended up chomping quickly at the sandwich like a starving Third World child in those CARE posters. My best friend Geoff was sitting next to me and he laughed derisively. “Pig!” he said. I didn’t care. I was famished and that was the most scrumptious treat I had eaten since last Thanksgiving. Or so I thought. 

Why was Marina del Rey Junior High’s Peanut Butter Jelly Sandwich so darned good? I have tried to analyze this over the years. First, they used wheat bread while my family ate white Wonder Bread. I had no idea wheat bread tasted so good. Next, the peanut butter was generously thick, and I found out later that LA City Schools might have been using Army surplus PJ, which had a strong taste and stuck to the roof of your mouth. Lastly, the strawberry jam was equally generous, and its moist texture softened the peanut butter in a complementary way. Institutional wheat bread, PJ and jam came together in a perfect storm of ingredients that more than satisfied this hungry altar boy. I made it a point to order that PJB sandwich at least once a week. 

As I got older, I tried to recreate my junior high PJB, to no avail. Skippy peanut butter just doesn’t have the thickness or sharp taste of LA City School’s Army surplus. Safeway’s strawberry preserves pale in comparison to my Nutrition experience. And I’m still trying to find the right kind of wheat bread. I’ve come close but I have never been able to replicate the sheer delight of my 7th grade peanut butter-jelly extravaganza. I also think the Eucharistic fast and the Latin Mass are part of this joy. These are the details that make our childhood memories so vivid and unforgettable. 

The bell rang and the whole lot of us noisy middle schoolers groaned and trudged to our next class. If memory serves me correctly, I was heading toward Science with Miss Mizuti. I was the class clown and I’m sure I was thinking of wisecracks and puns that would make my classmates laugh as my teacher shook her head in exasperation.