Just a Spoonful of Pudding Helps the Clothing Bills Go Up

When I was growing up, family outings rarely left Illinois—just the occasional border hop into Wisconsin or Indiana. A day at the Dunes or the Dells felt like a real adventure. We always had fun on those trips… except once. Looking back, even that one was pretty funny.

Nancy - age 4 

The summer of 1965 was brutally hot. We had no air conditioning, and it wouldn’t have helped anyway. On sticky late afternoons we’d pile into the family sedan and head for the lakefront. Mom packed cold chicken or sandwiches, and deli salads. Dad loaded the trunk with lawn chairs, a blanket, sand toys, a beach ball or a Frisbee. Once at the beach, the sound of the waves and the cool breeze off the water made the heat bearable. This night we never made it.

It was an August scorcher, and the evening offered no relief. Dad, Mom, and four-year-old Nancy sat up front on the bench seat. Natalie, Patrick, and I were jammed in the back, stuck to the vinyl. The beach was only thirty or forty minutes away—longer in traffic—but it felt like forever.

Nancy loved rice pudding. It wasn’t something Mom bought every time, which is why it felt like a special treat when she did. The moment Nancy saw the small carton, her eyes lit up. We wouldn’t be eating for at least two hours, so Mom gave in. Nancy finished the whole thing before we even pulled away from the curb.

The ride was bumpier than usual. Maybe it was the heat, or the three of us packed in like sardines, but the lake might as well have been a hundred miles away.

Teasing is Rule One of the sibling code on long car rides. With Patrick and Natalie egging me on, I teased Nancy mercilessly as she leaned over the front seat. Mom yelled, “Leave your sister alone!” Dad added, “Don’t make me have to pull over!” Rule Two is to blame someone else. “Natalie and Patrick made me do it!”

Distracted by the commotion, Dad hit a pothole that lifted the three of us off the seat. Nancy squealed with delight. After the third jolt it wasn’t funny anymore. Her rice pudding—still not fully settled—decided it wanted out.

Natalie, Patrick, and I were in the direct line of fire. There was no escape. Mom tried to pull Nancy down onto the front seat and contain the mess, but she was caught by rice-pudding shrapnel, and what didn’t end up in her lap sprayed across the three of us in the back. Dad was used to our backseat shenanigans, but this felt louder than usual. He called out, “What’s the matter now?” Nancy turned toward him, and the last of the pudding hit his sleeve and pant leg.

Shocked by what had just happened, Dad growled, “What the hell is going on back there?”

Mom looked down at her ruined skirt, then across at Dad and the three of us in the back, assessing the damage. She looked slightly horrified and nearly as pale as the rice pudding itself.
An evening at the lake was clearly out of the question. Instead, we headed to the local Turn Style—basically the Kmart of its day—and the whole family had to be completely re-outfitted just to get home.
Whether it was food poisoning or motion sickness, no one will ever know for sure. What I do know is that I have not been able to look at rice pudding, let alone eat it, ever since. The mere sight of those pale, lumpy grains still makes my stomach tighten.

As for my sister, Nancy… she denies any recollection of the events related here. She claims the whole story is pure invention.

I know better.