The Most Expensive Eggs Ever

I was 8 in 1954  and we lived in a neighborhood without fences.  My cousin Linda, who is 9 months younger than I, lived two doors down.  She was and still is like a sister to me.  We were certainly playmates.  With no fences, our back yard, our neighbor’s back yard and Linda’s back yard formed our excellent playground.

Somehow we had gotten a 2 X 4 which  we staked with the narrow side up to create a balance beam.  Since this was before TV carried extensive Olympics coverage, I don’t know how we came up with the notion of a balance beam. We must have walked miles on that beam.  Linda was always more athletic and better coordinated than I was.  I was more of a klutzy nerd and had to really concentrate to make it from one end of our balance beam to the other.

In the adult world at this time, my dad was on strike as a member of the Oil, Chemical and Atomic Workers who were challenging the Mobil Refinery for better wages and benefits.  Strike pay did not cover the financial needs of Donald and Edith Golden who were raising two boys.

Dad supplemented his strike pay by working as a stevedore at the Port of Beaumont unloading a banana boat.  It was grueling labor and when he came home he told us stories of the spiders and snakes that liked to hide in the banana bunches. I am continually impressed at how devoted to family my dad was.  He is my hero.

Mom adjusted our menus to reduce the outbound cash flow.  Rice and beans were a regular and to this day I find rice and beans to be one of my most favorite comfort foods.

Somehow my Aunt Helen, Linda’s mom, glommed onto two dozen farm fresh eggs at a good price and agreed to split them with my mom.  So mom sent me to their house to get them.  My aunt gave me the dozen eggs in a brown paper lunch bag.  As I started back I had a Family Circus moment and detoured to our makeshift balance beam.  Being a natural klutz and with the unbalance of the dozen eggs, I did not negotiate the beam without a fall.

I headed on home, went into the kitchen and gave mom the eggs.   She looked into the bag and burst into tears.  I had never seen her cry before and it unsettled me.  In my klutziness I had broken more than half of the eggs.  My mom dried her tears, smiled at me and  salvaged the situation by making scrambled eggs for dinner that night.