assignment book:
Nilda RamÃrez
Class 5B-2
P.S. 72 Manh
.
November 19, 1941.
Looking up to the front, she felt her stomach turn again. Every morning the small containers of milk were lined up on Miss Langhornâs desk. For three cents any student could buy one. Next to the milk, the teacher had set out a box of chocolate-covered graham crackers. Miss Langhorn sold these personally. They cost two cents apiece or three for a nickel.
âAll right, children, let us line up.â
About half the class could afford to buy milk every morning. A much smaller percentage could afford to buy both milk and cookies. Very rarely did Nilda join the line for milk; most of the time she had no money at all. Every morning Nilda longed to have milk and one of those cookies.
âHere, Nilda, you can have one of mine,â Mildred, the girl who sat next to her, had offered once.
It was so delicious, she remembered. Another time Leo had given her money and she could buy both the milk and cookies. That was great! she recalled. All that sweet chocolatey taste on the outside, but when you bit the inside it was real good and crunchy, slowly melting in your mouth. A few times when shehad money for milk, Nilda tried to buy just the graham crackers but Miss Langhorn had said, âNo, itâs against school rules. You can buy the cookies only to have with your milk.â At the beginning, some of the kids would share their cookies, but now Miss Langhorn had set a class rule that no sharing or offering of milk and cookies was allowed.
As she did almost every morning, Nilda just sat and stared with the other children who werenât eating. They all waited for the milk break to be over, which took about twenty minutes. It seems to get longer all the time, thought Nilda. Someday Iâm gonna come in and buy a whole nickelâs worth of cookies. And when I grow up Iâm gonna buy a whole box, sit down and eat them all up. If Miss Langhorn happens to come around and ask for a cookieâsheâll be real old by thenâIâll see her probably strolling down Central Park and Iâll be sitting on a bench holding the box and eating. When she asks me for a cookie Iâll say, âIâm sooooo sorry, my dear Miss Langhorn, but I donât think itâs polite to ask. Do you? Eh?â Iâll chew loud and make sure I smile at her.
The morning dragged on until Nilda heard the lunch bell. She was going home for lunch this term. After the experience at camp this past summer, she had convinced her mother to let her come home for lunch. She hated the free lunches given at school. âAll that awful soup, Mamá. It tastes like water. The bread is hard, and the milk tastes funny, and you always get prunes for dessert. The food tastes just like at the camp. I know Iâm gonna be sick. I just know it.â
It had taken a lot of talking, but at last her mother had agreed to let her come home. She, in turn, had also agreed to the condition that she eat whatever her mother could spare. âNo complaining, Nilda,â her mother had said. âIf you start with the boberÃa that you donât like this or you donât like that, you go right back to eat at school! ¡Se acabó! Understand?â
This whole week it had been chocolate pudding and tea with milk. At first she had been overjoyed at the idea of chocolate pudding for lunch. Her mother served it cold sometimes and hot sometimes, like cereal. But after several days, the thought of chocolate pudding again sent a feeling of disappointment right down to the bottom of her stomach. Oh well, itâs still better than eating in this place, she thought, and headed for home.
To get home Nilda had to pass through the dark tunnels on Park Avenue. That was the worst part; even worse than the short lunch hour. It seemed that no sooner was she up the steps and in the apartment than she had to leave in order to arrive back at school before the late bell
Nilda RamÃrez
Class 5B-2
P.S. 72 Manh
.
November 19, 1941.
Looking up to the front, she felt her stomach turn again. Every morning the small containers of milk were lined up on Miss Langhornâs desk. For three cents any student could buy one. Next to the milk, the teacher had set out a box of chocolate-covered graham crackers. Miss Langhorn sold these personally. They cost two cents apiece or three for a nickel.
âAll right, children, let us line up.â
About half the class could afford to buy milk every morning. A much smaller percentage could afford to buy both milk and cookies. Very rarely did Nilda join the line for milk; most of the time she had no money at all. Every morning Nilda longed to have milk and one of those cookies.
âHere, Nilda, you can have one of mine,â Mildred, the girl who sat next to her, had offered once.
It was so delicious, she remembered. Another time Leo had given her money and she could buy both the milk and cookies. That was great! she recalled. All that sweet chocolatey taste on the outside, but when you bit the inside it was real good and crunchy, slowly melting in your mouth. A few times when shehad money for milk, Nilda tried to buy just the graham crackers but Miss Langhorn had said, âNo, itâs against school rules. You can buy the cookies only to have with your milk.â At the beginning, some of the kids would share their cookies, but now Miss Langhorn had set a class rule that no sharing or offering of milk and cookies was allowed.
As she did almost every morning, Nilda just sat and stared with the other children who werenât eating. They all waited for the milk break to be over, which took about twenty minutes. It seems to get longer all the time, thought Nilda. Someday Iâm gonna come in and buy a whole nickelâs worth of cookies. And when I grow up Iâm gonna buy a whole box, sit down and eat them all up. If Miss Langhorn happens to come around and ask for a cookieâsheâll be real old by thenâIâll see her probably strolling down Central Park and Iâll be sitting on a bench holding the box and eating. When she asks me for a cookie Iâll say, âIâm sooooo sorry, my dear Miss Langhorn, but I donât think itâs polite to ask. Do you? Eh?â Iâll chew loud and make sure I smile at her.
The morning dragged on until Nilda heard the lunch bell. She was going home for lunch this term. After the experience at camp this past summer, she had convinced her mother to let her come home for lunch. She hated the free lunches given at school. âAll that awful soup, Mamá. It tastes like water. The bread is hard, and the milk tastes funny, and you always get prunes for dessert. The food tastes just like at the camp. I know Iâm gonna be sick. I just know it.â
It had taken a lot of talking, but at last her mother had agreed to let her come home. She, in turn, had also agreed to the condition that she eat whatever her mother could spare. âNo complaining, Nilda,â her mother had said. âIf you start with the boberÃa that you donât like this or you donât like that, you go right back to eat at school! ¡Se acabó! Understand?â
This whole week it had been chocolate pudding and tea with milk. At first she had been overjoyed at the idea of chocolate pudding for lunch. Her mother served it cold sometimes and hot sometimes, like cereal. But after several days, the thought of chocolate pudding again sent a feeling of disappointment right down to the bottom of her stomach. Oh well, itâs still better than eating in this place, she thought, and headed for home.
To get home Nilda had to pass through the dark tunnels on Park Avenue. That was the worst part; even worse than the short lunch hour. It seemed that no sooner was she up the steps and in the apartment than she had to leave in order to arrive back at school before the late bell
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