All of the other kids had normal lunches. They had things like boloney, or peanut butter and jelly on Wonder bread, little bags of potato chips, Hostess cupcakes.

But not me.

Transformations

We tell stories.

We tell stories to make sense of our lives.

We tell stories to communicate our experience of being alive.

We tell stories in our own distinct voice. Our own unique rhythm and tonality.

Transformations is a weekly story-telling column. The stories are written by community members who are my students. Our stories will be about family, love, loss and good times. We hope to make you laugh and cry. Maybe we will convince you to tell your stories.

— Kathrin Seitz

“Everyone, when they get quiet, when they become desperately honest with themselves, is capable of uttering profound truths. We all derive from the same source. There is no mystery about the origin of things. We are all part of creation, all kings, all poets, all musicians; we have only to open up, only to discover what is already there.” — Henry Miller

Kathrin Seitz teaches Method Writing in Rockport, New York City and Florida. She can be reached at kathrin@kathrinseitz.com.

There I was with my enormous salami and provolone sandwich on thick, crusty Italian bread. I was different today — not the same as the other kids. I didn't like it one bit. I always hated when I stayed at my grandmother's house and she packed my lunch for school that day. I loved staying overnight. It was special. She loved making my lunch — and, that was not special.

It was alright to eat things like that when we visited her on a Sunday evening. But, not in the brightly lit, yellow and green tile walled cafeteria at St. David Elementary School.

I had mastered this embarrassing ritual, though. I would break off tiny bites of this controversial sandwich, keeping the hulk of it hid as best that I could behind the crumpled brown lunch bag.

Finally, I was finished. It seemed to take forever.

Then, I would scoop up the tough, almost inedible crusts, twist all of it up in the waxed paper, stuff it into the bag and bolt toward the metal trash cans next to the door leading to the playground.

Out there, now on the noisy playground, I was finally the same as all of the others once again. No distinguishing marks anymore. I was pure white bread like the rest.

Funny, we probably would all love to have that same sandwich for lunch today. I know that I would. But not back in 1958.

Paul Cavalli, of Camden, has spent the majority of his career as a senior marketing executive in the retail industry. He began his career as a special education teacher and made the transition into the marketing area of retail in 1980. Since retiring in 2010, he has been consulting and doing volunteer work, serving on boards and been actively involved in the arts, cultural and community action areas over the years and is currently on the boards of Bay Chamber Concerts and Midcoast Habitat for Humanity.