Cream of Onion Soup

Mostly I was a polite and grateful child, but there was that year of cream of onion soup.

We had moved to a new town so I was nervous about measuring up to the other third graders.  All the kids had shiny superhero lunchboxes filled with Oreos, cheese sticks, a turkey sandwich, and a bag of Doritos that they would trade with other kids for Twinkies, green grapes, pretzel sticks, and a pb and j.  Except me.  I had a Tupperware tote with a little Thermos of cream of onion soup in it.

I didn't like cream of onion soup, and even worse, cream of onion soup has zero trade value in third grade.

I hated my life.

Years later the cream of onion soup made sense.  At the time there was no work, there was no money, and there were few options, but we had onions.  So my mother, Rapunzel, had tied her hair out of her way and made cream of onion soup, frozen it in little batches, and got up every morning to cook it and preheat my little Thermos to keep the soup hot until lunchtime.  When I complained, she told me how healthy it was, and like moms have been doing for generations, she omitted the more brutal details such as our household being on a knife's edge and about to be plunged into the depths of financial calamity.  Jeremy Renner couldn't have done a better job of acting as though everything was and would continue to be fine.

So if it's not too late, Mom, thank you.  Cream of onion soup, cream of anything soup actually, will always bring me happy thoughts of you.  All soup does, really.  Campbell's got nothin on you.