Reflecting

This morning I was thinking back to when I was in second grade. My parents were recently divorced, which in today's world seems perfectly normal. Back then, it was still not the norm, and I was the only kid I knew, who's parents were divorced. My sister and I used to spend every other weekend with my Dad. He lived in this small apartment behind a store called Fred Meyer. I don't remember a lot about the apartment, but I assume it was only a one bedroom, because I do remember sleeping on the floor or the couch, in the living room. My father was new to bachlorhood, and knew how to cook very few things. I believe we ate pot roast every weekend for a while. He had a glass top table for four. I remember thinking to myself that a glass top table didn't make sense with kids. The reality was, he wasn't with kids. Only for a couple of days every other week. My most vivid memory of those trips to the little apartment, were breakfast. Hostess donut sticks in a box, and a glass (not a cup) of milk. I loved those donut sticks. I remember looking so forward to them. We were allowed to eat them straight out of the box. We were allowed to eat them in front of the t.v. watching cartoons, while my Dad took a shower. It was like we were bachlors too. I always felt so strange, eating those donut sticks, on the floor, wrapped in blankets watching Tom and Jerry. But I liked it. It was my first taste of independence, as odd as that sounds. And to this day, every time I think about those donut sticks, I smile a little smile.