Cheesy

Growing up in the lean years of the Great Depression, my parents learned frugality. How they chose to spend money, however, was as different as natural cheese and processed cheese food. Literally.

For my mother, frugality meant buying items at the lowest price or getting them for free. She didn’t buy clothes, if she could get hand-me-downs. She stretched milk with water, always bought oleo and served sandwiches made with slices of the bright orange grease that attempted to masquerade as cheese. She loved saving Green Stamps to purchase free items from their catalog. She justified her frequent impulse purchases by pointing out how much she saved. “Yes, I have enough baskets, but this one was 60 percent off.”

My father didn’t indulge in impulse purchases and he was willing to pay for quality. When he did the shopping, we spread real butter on our toast and enjoyed real cheddar or swiss on our sandwiches. With clothing, his penchant for quality didn’t always work in our favor. My brother recalls the corduroy trousers that he had to wear for three years. He was in a slow growth period and the pants just wouldn’t wear out. He longed for narrow-legged chinos, which were all the rage, but the voluminous corduroys defied destruction, despite his best efforts.

One evening after a square dance, my parents visited a local ice cream shop with friends. One lady longingly eyed the strawberry sundaes, but settled for sharing a single dish of ice cream with her husband. My father shook his head. “They’re worth more than a million dollars, but can’t even enjoy their choice of ice cream.” My mother nodded sagely and replied. “They must have been what their coupon was for.”