My mom used to pack my lunches every day until I turned 12. Each day at school I would open my pink lunchbox knowing exactly what to expect. The lunch always consisted of sides, like chips or fruit, and a sandwich on white Wonder Bread — the kind that would stick to the roof of my mouth.
My lunch was a classic packed lunch like everyone else’s, but what made it stand out was how the sandwich was cut. While all the other moms cut their kids’ sandwiches with diagonal slices, making it easier to eat around the flaky brown crusts, my mom always cut mine straight down the middle, and I hated it.
I was afraid my mom would stop making my lunch if I told her how much I disliked the unique way she cut my sandwiches. Although her middle-cut sandwiches bothered me, my mom’s packed lunches still brought me some much-needed comfort at school. I looked forward to opening my lunchbox because there was a written note on a napkin saying “Love, Mom” with a heart.
In elementary school, I had constant anxiety and felt overwhelmed by the world around me. Being away from home was a constant struggle, so opening my mom’s packed lunch and reading the notes she left was a way to have a piece of home with me during the day.
Once I turned 12 and my anxiety about being away from home subsided, my mom felt I was old enough to start making my own lunches. It was the same meal, a sandwich with chips and fruit, but I started cutting it diagonally.
The ingredients and taste of the sandwich didn’t change, but it felt like a whole new concept. My new lunch didn’t bring me comfort anymore and it felt like nothing more than just a meal. But at least it resembled the lunches around me.
I sliced my sandwiches diagonally until this past summer when I got sick with a cold that kept me bed bound for a week. When I’m sick, all I crave is comforting food. I began to realize that all I wanted was a sandwich made by my mom — cut right down the middle.
Since my summer cold, I’ve felt a consistent sense of homesickness for the first time since I moved to college four years ago. I felt like my heart was split between living my current college life and longing for the simplicity of being younger and relying on my parents. It wasn’t my house or town that I missed, but rather the plainness of an awkwardly made sandwich.
My homesickness hit me, so I made the sandwich I loathed as a child to feel connected to home. It had all the same ingredients as the sandwiches I made before, but it felt different, like a wave of nostalgia and the warmth of a mother loving her child.
My diagonally cut sandwiches didn’t comfort me or ease the feeling of missing home, they were just something to eat. I couldn’t understand what was so special about how my mom made her sandwiches because they were simple and had no defining special ingredients.
After finishing the sandwich, I called my mom to ask her why she made it the way she did. She explained that she made my sandwiches that way because her mom used to cut them like that too. Now, I continue to cut my sandwiches in the same way to hold onto a little piece of home and family whenever I can.
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