Fruit Jello

I have a sister who is four months older than me. Okay, she’s my step-sister, but we’ve been together since we were both five years old, so we are close. We are almost as close as twins. As any kids who grow up together, we could speak to each other without uttering a word or a sound.

One time that stands out in my memory was when we did something mean and ornery to the rest of the family. I can’t even call it a prank; it was so mean. We weren’t evil kids, so it was very out of character for us to do.

We’d been playing outside all day and came in for a snack. My mom was working, and her dad was playing pinochle with his brothers. When we opened the fridge, we saw that her day had made Jello for that night’s dessert, the hated green jello with a fruit cocktail inside it.

Now, you must understand growing up poor, we had Jello a lot. Almost every night. And for some reason, my stepdad had to ruin it by adding fruit, destroying the texture of the Jello and the fruit. This was no fun to a child with undiagnosed Autism, not at all.

Well, when we saw that big cake pan full of fruit Jello, we looked at each other, and without saying one word, we sat down on the floor and pulled that pan out of the fridge. We removed our shoes. Then, we proceeded to bathe our sandy Texas feet in that liquid. We washed until our feet were clean but sticky, then we got up, washed our feet, put the Jello back, and cleaned up our mess. Even though we had destroyed dessert, we knew better than to leave the muck behind for my mom to clean up.

When we were done, we went outside and played some more. We forgot all about what we had done until after we were called in to eat dinner.

Even though my mother had worked that day, she had still found the time to make an excellent meatloaf with mashed potatoes. I don’t remember what vegetable was served. I remember all eight of us kids there (This was before the youngest was born). We pigged out on my mommy’s wonderful meatloaf. I feel sorry for anyone who has never had a great meatloaf like my mother makes.

Then, my stepdad brought out the pan of Jello. My sister and I looked at each other. I know he thought it odd that we did not want any. We pretended to be stuffed. We watched as everyone else ate the Jello. You could hear the sand crunching between their teeth. Our stepdad commented that there must be sand in the water that day. My sister and I just looked at each other and giggled. We knew what had happened, but we wouldn’t say a word.

There’s nothing like how kids can play for hours and never say a word. It’s like they can read each other's minds or something. I’ll never forget how my sister and I moved in unison that day like we had rehearsed our actions beforehand. To this day, neither of us have never told a soul about the green fruit Jello foot bath.