I remember my excitement the day our 3rd grade teacher, Miss Cayemberg, told us we'd soon have a new student joining us. She said Alex Sivas had moved from the country of Greece and spoke no English! (This was exotic stuff for little Green Bay, Wisconsin, which was pretty much all-white back then.) Pretty soon, Alex arrived, and I was thrilled to meet my new, chunky, dark-skinned pal. Each day, if we students finished our work early, we could help Alex with his English, so I always worked as quickly as I could, so I could help him. I loved playing the teacher role, and he was a very nice kid, who said very little but smiled a lot, so I liked him.
The thing I liked most about Alex, though, was his mom. I soon learned that they lived on the street that my siblings and I took to school every day; we walked right past his house. (It turned out that Alex was actually supposed to be in the next grade up, my brother Dennis's grade, but he was in my class because of the language barrier or something, so Dennis and I both knew him.)
Now, I have to backtrack just a little to remind you that we were poor back then, my family. I don't remember going hungry or anything, but I do remember the food stamps, free lunches, and eating a lot of oatmeal and Cream of Wheat for breakfasts. We were also very skinny kids. So, back to the story....
Every day, Dennis and I would stop at the Sivas's house to pick Alex up, and we would be invited into the house by his mom, would insist that we wait in the nice, warm kitchen. I still know very little about Greeks, but I do know that they love to eat, and Alex's family was no exception; his mother was always cooking or baking something when we went to his house. Mrs. Sivas would always try to get us to eat! With a twinkle in her eye, she'd squeeze my little cheeks and say something enthusiastically and cheerfully in Greek that I'm pretty sure was, "This child is clearly dying of starvation! We must plump her up!" Of course, by comparison to her healthy, chubby son, I probably appeared emaciated, but I thought it was pretty funny (and of course, I didn't mind the attention, not to mention the extra food.)
I called Dennis when I was writing this, and he recalled that Mrs. Sivas was always "pushing bread" on him, which he would end up "chewing for about a half hour!" but I don't remember that. My food memory from the Sivas household (and my mouth has now started watering) is the taste of Alex's mom's delicious "moon" cookies. I don't know what they were called, but they were shaped like little half-moons, were rolled in powdered sugar, and had chopped almonds in them. Mrs. Sivas may not have known English, but she knew the language of food, and she spoke it every time I saw her. I adored the attention she showered on us. I was bummed when Alex and his family moved away.
Flash forward to the early 1980's. I was in a dance club that also happened to have a pool table, and I somehow found myself (uncharacteristically) playing pool with a charming, handsome, dark-haired guy in a clean, white undershirt and gold chains. He made me laugh, because while he was handsome, his giggolo look and confidence were a little over the top. I was standing there looking at him, listening to him say something about my shot, when something clicked inside me suddenly, and I asked, "Is your name Alex?"
It was him. He didn't remember me at first, but did when I helped fill in the blanks. We put the pool sticks down and just caught up for a few minutes. He said he had moved around a few times but settled in Green Bay. His parents were doing well. I reminded him of Miss Cayemberg's class and about how his mom was always feeding us, and he remembered, but not in the way that I did; he smiled, but just politely, and before long, we had nothing left to talk about, so we parted ways.
I guess our connection stopped at the affection we felt for his mom; we had nothing else in common.
Today, I'm not skinny, but I do make a point to make cookies now and then, including the kind inspired by Alex's mom. I bake and cook when I can and share what I have with others, hopefully with the same love and affection of cooks before me...
...because, like it or not, food says love in any language.
Neat story! That woman sure was sweet. :) She probably has no idea how much she influenced you!
ReplyDeleteGood food is one thing that we can all understand.
ReplyDeleteWhat an Awesome Story!!!
ReplyDeleteThat's just such a sweet story!!! ... And what are the odds that you ran into him? That's crazy!!
ReplyDeleteHow neat that you got started early in your teaching career! That's so cute that you did your work fast so you could help him. Also neat that you met again years later!
ReplyDeleteWhat a nice lady to feed you all the time too! Enjoyed this story from your past.
I love that story! Look at you, a teacher from the get go!
ReplyDeleteI think that is why we are compelled to press food on people when there is a death, a tragedy or some sort; we nurture them by feeding them. This was a great post.
ReplyDeletemmmmm... cookies!
ReplyDeleteThanks a lot. Now I'm going to have to pry my butt OFF the couch and make cookies. It's all your fault.
That is sweet. It reminds me to extend kindness all the time...we just never know....
ReplyDeleteSo did you beat him in pool?
ReplyDeleteFunny how life goes in circles...
So make us all moon cookies!
(and where's my Beef barley Soup!)
Every so often I have a "moment" like this. Happened to my eldest last year. She saw a boy in the dining hall, who sure did look a lot like the little boy who had moved away after 1st grade. And guess what? She and Niko are still good friends!
ReplyDeleteGreat story! I love that you got to see him later in life.
ReplyDeleteI speak food.
See, you always were a teacher. You just needed to grow up, get the degree and the job.
ReplyDeleteWhat a small world that you would cross paths after all those years.
I hear you about the Greeks, I always had the same experience! And I've had those cookies before, they're fantastic.
ReplyDeleteThanks for the memories, and the great story!
I love this story, and I totally agree!
ReplyDeleteGreat story. Ya never need and interpreter for good grub!
ReplyDeleteYou have a super day!
Lovely story. Food is like glue for our family.
ReplyDeleteAnd that, my friend, is the reason it is so hard to control one's weight (for me at least)! Food IS the language of love (and hospitality) so to show people we love them, we FEED them (and, of course, eat what we prepare ourselves too). Sad but true.
ReplyDeleteI love this post! You have so many good stories! I now feel the need to make cookies and invite the kids' friends over :)
ReplyDelete