Oh-oh, SpaghettiOs

I wonder if Carson has a karaoke version of the SpaghettiOs song.

People who say they aren't influenced by advertising are kidding themselves. When I was a kid I knew all the words to that song, as well as to every other advertising jingle of the 1960s and 70s.

I used to balance fruit on my head and sing the Chiquita Banana song.

One day while grocery shopping with my mother — I must have been five or six — I saw the can of SpaghettiOs on the shelf at the IGA and begged my mother to buy it.

Now, my mother was no great cook, but she kept the fridge and cupboards well stocked and always prepared hearty, if very basic, meals. Being German we ate a lot of meat and potatoes. Probably some vegetables too; I can't exactly remember. Green beans, I think. But mostly meat, and lots of it.

My mother made, and taught me to make, a Germified version of spaghetti. A huge pot of meat — ground beef and pork, and sometimes sausage — cooked in its own juices, a couple of onions, a few spices, and a little tomato sauce. But heavy on the meat. It was more of a brown sauce than a red sauce.

And that's what we'd pour over spaghetti. And it was wonderful.

I still make it today. I learned this skill from my mother: cook once, eat many times. Make a big-ass pot full of something: spaghetti sauce, or stew, or chili. Then eat it for several days.

I make a mean black bean soup.

But back to the SpaghettiOs story...

So there we were in the grocery store, me holding that can of SpaghettiOs, childish desire in my heart. Working the mom. Knowing that whining or crying wasn't the way to do it. Reasoning was, but I couldn't think of a good reason why she should buy it for me. So I just asked: please.

"Why do you want that?" my mother asked me. Not in a sarcastic way — my mother isn't the one who taught me that skill — but simple; straightforward. Why? Give me a reason, and you can have it.

"Because it's good!" I replied. "I saw it on TV!"

She probably saw right through that one. No fool, was my mother.

"All right, then," said my mother, patiently. "I will buy it for you, but only on one condition."

Anything! Anything!

"You have to eat it."

I was too young to realize this might be some sort of a trick.

"I mean, if I buy that can, and take it home, and we open it, then you have to eat the whole thing. You have to finish it."

That was my first life lesson under the heading, be careful what you wish for.

To this day, the only canned food in my home is tuna.

* * *
The next story is about two former Maple Leafs players, both named Bill.