Hot Dog!
Elementary: Grades 3–4
Story
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Hot Dog!
Allan was a picky eater. He only liked certain foods, and he only liked them his way. His way usually involved ketchup. No matter what he was eating, he wanted ketchup, lots of it. Whatever his mother cooked, he wanted it with ketchup. Whatever his grandma cooked, he wanted it with ketchup. His little sister Ruth was sure her job was to make sure Allan had plenty of ketchup.
Their mother suggested that Allan should change his habits. "Eight-year-old boys need more nutrition than what comes in ketchup. Ketchup is not a vegetable," she would say as Allan pushed aside his peas and carrots and poured a thick coating of ketchup on his meat loaf.
Grandma suggested that Allan should try some new things. "It's 1955, and you have choices I never would have dreamed of when I was your age. Why always eat the same things?" Allan shrugged and poured a pool of ketchup onto his baked potato. He only liked things his way.
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Sometimes on Sundays, Allan and Ruth got permission to go to Maxwell Street Market with their Uncle Jimmy. Uncle Jimmy went every week to play guitar. People at Maxwell Street called him Howlin' Hound and liked the way his band played blues music. One week, Allan and Ruth's mother gave them money to buy hot dogs at the market.
"We've got money for hot dogs!" Ruth exclaimed when her uncle arrived. "Where should we get them?" Allen asked.
"You can't go wrong at Maxwell Street. Everything's good," Uncle Jimmy said. "Everybody selling will tell you his stuff is the best. They'll talk away at you until you buy, so just get what you want fast, or it'll drive you crazy." Uncle Jimmy glanced in the mirror, straightened his tie, and adjusted his felt hat with a wide brim. "Let's go, kids," he said, winking. "Howlin' Hound has blues to play. My fans are waiting."
Allan and Ruth climbed into Uncle Jimmy's old red Chevrolet, squeezing in between his guitar and the speakers he would set up at Maxwell Street. They headed north from Bronzeville towards downtown. Allan grasped the money in his hand, already tasting a hot dog in his imagination, covered with ketchup, of course.
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