A boy was born who had Indian, Chinese, Irish and Italian grandmothers.
The parents couldn't decide on a name for him.
Then it hit them…they called him Ravi O’Lee.
Cole,
This may not mean much to you, but it means a lot to me. I share a fondness for Chef Boyardee Ravioli, and here's why:
The year after my Dad passed, and I'd been dismissed from school for failing the winter midterms (I was grieving, and in no shape for the stress of college), I spent a summer of working as a lawn maintenance tech. My main job was hauling tree brush cut from felled limbs and carted to a wood chipper. It was hot, grueling work, but an honest day's pay.
Eventually, the next autumn, I returned to college and was determined to finish my degree part-time. I think by summer of 1996, I needed just 12 more credits to graduate.
Making the best use of my time, it was necessary to attend geology field school for 6 weeks during June 1996. At first, my dorm room was in an empty east campus dorm. There was no cafeteria or campus food court back then during the summer. Preparing and eating meals was solely the responsibility of the student.
About 2 weeks into field school, notification came that it would be necessary to abandon east campus for whatever reason. Campus authority provided a room in the Student Alumni building. I had no cell phone, computer, means of communication with what was left of family at home.
Somehow, I located a payphone in east campus and begged my Mom to help me move my belongings to the alumni building. As Mom helped drive my foot locker and suitcases, my minimal survival gear to the alumni building I asked if she could help by making a 5 mile drive to the nearest grocery store.
There, we purchased bottled water, a case or so of Chef Boyardee ravioli, jars of peanut butter and jam, apples, and some lunch bags. We decided that it would be best to buy bread from the just-off-campus convenience store, so the bread wouldn't go moldy or stale.
Mom smiled and bid me adieu, and said "We'll pray for you."
For the next 4 weeks I attended geology field school, and lived like a pauper until the end of July. Using a small plug-in thermo-cup, and a metal soup spoon, my dinner consisted of a 16 oz can of mini-raviolis and a couple slices of bread. Lunch was 2 PBJ sandwiches and an apple. Breakfast was nonexistent.
I was scared as hell regards survival, but once field school concluded and my grade was posted (B-), it took time to process all of this. Even today, the trauma is what was college prevented me from articulating my feelings well enough until learning how to write on guitar forums helped with spoken sword as well.
Your ravioli reference was the trigger. I'd tell you a separate story about memory triggers, but this one will make its way to my memoirs sequel.
I have some decent stories buried that are just waiting to be discovered...all you need do is find the right word, and you shall receive.
