Over the summer of 1968, our family’s single year of apartment dwelling ended by moving to a new house. As a result, I transferred to a different elementary school for fifth grade, Cloverdale Elementary, which was to be my fourth school to attend in five years!
With the dreaded-but-familiar loss of old friends impending, I was glad to learn that another kid from my last school made the same relocation. In line outside the cafeteria that first day of school, he said, “I’m so glad you are here, I may have to give you a roll!”
I was puzzled and asked him what “give you a roll” meant. Was it a slightly painful and hopefully avoidable gesture of appreciation, like noogies or a swift smack in the upper arm?
I was inclined to refuse, but he stared at me like I was from Mars, or maybe Mississippi, the only state that Arkansans could justifiably look down on.
Making the shape of a ball with his hands, he said, “You know, a roll! A roll!”
I realized he meant bread. I had never contemplated giving someone a chunk of bread as an act of celebration. It seemed a bit low-effort, and he never did give me a gift that day, other than a bafflingly persistent memory.
Through the years, my family had avoided any religious behavior other than a meticulous adherence to sleeping late on Sundays. This fine practice was doomed, since dating in Arkansas involved mandatory church attendance.
So, seven years after that day in Cloverdale, sitting on an unpadded and unforgiving pew in my girlfriend’s Southern Baptist Church, I was handed a shot of grape juice and a square millimeter of cracker.
Southern Baptists did not indulge in pleasure lightly, so it is unsurprising that they served only such minimalist snacks. You could starve to death waiting for a dollop of peanut butter or Cheez Whiz.
While symbolically ingesting a deity in a shared act of celebration, I recalled that day in the lunchroom line when I was offered a ball of baked dough. I regretted that I could not augment the cracker with a rectangle of paper-encased margarine as I could have the festive bread roll, thereby increasing jubilation as well as palatability.
While any and all bread-related symbolism is wasted on me, as to the use of bread for festivities, I must agree with Marie Antoinette that cake makes a fine substitute.
