When I was little, I’m guessing four-years-old, give or take, we were visiting my grandparents in Vermont. Various family members were there, although I was too young to remember now exactly who was there. We all met up at the grocery store in the village. Everybody divided up into two groups, each group going on a different outing. Each of my parents went with a different group. And each assumed I was with the other one.
They forgot me.
Who does that?
Part of this adventure for me was being hungry, and seeing The.Best.Thing.Ever. Jars of Bosco on the bottom of one of the shelves.
My “Bosco” incident was in the late 1950s, so I would have seen this commercial which I found on YouTube. Crazy, right?
I sat down on the floor and opened a jar of Bosco. I was scooping it out with my hands when I got caught.
First of all, how is it that I could open the jar when now it can take me hot water, a towel, all the strength I have and still have trouble opening jars? Secondly, who ratted me out to the manager?
I clearly remember looking up and there was a man in grocery store garb, looming over me.
The rest is a mystery. I don’t know how long I was there. It seems like it was 7 hours, but that is my child’s brain speaking. It may have been one hour. At some point, I must have had to go to the bathroom and eat something other than Bosco. But maybe not.
I knew my grandparents names, “Mamoo and Granddaddy,” but that wouldn’t have helped much in locating them.
Do you know the long wooden bench inside grocery stores (or used to be) that run across the front of the store? Where they used to stack the various newspapers? I was sitting there waiting, probably under strict orders from the manager, until my family reconvened and my parents realized that I hadn’t been with either of them.
I don’t think I was scared, but I was scared of everything back then, so maybe I was. But I was 100% sure they were coming back for me. It was like Home Alone, without the antics.
And I had Bosco.