The Munoz family lived across the street from us. Annie Munoz was a stay-at-home-mom, and she looked out for all the kids on the block. My daughter, Tracy, was the youngest, and was dubbed “The Baby” by Annie.
One day when Tracy was playing with Gilbert Munoz and his cousin, Greg, the three of them meandered across the street to our home. While there, they got the bright idea to share in a bottle of that cherry-candy-tasting St. Joseph Baby Aspirin.
They then left our house to go back to the Munoz residence. Meanwhile my live-in sitter, who spoke only Spanish, went running across the street to Annie with the near-empty baby aspirin bottle.
Annie began questioning the kids about the amount they may have consumed and got a different answer each time from each one of them. A serious situation became dire when at first it was just two fingers held up, then the count changed to three fingers, then it became four and frighteningly more.
Annie then decided that a trip to the emergency and getting their little tummies pumped was the answer to the problem.
She called me at work, and I left for home immediately.
At the Emergency Room, the “proof of the pudding” was that the kid who said he had the least amount (Gilbert) actually had the most.
That was about fifty years ago, and even today when Munoz family members see Tracy, they still refer to her as “The Baby,” and we still laugh about the day of the baby aspirin caper.
Sharon Benson Smith is a member of the writing class at Norwalk Senior Center.