I should start with some background. In the 1940s, there were almost no freeways, and a trip across Los Angeles was long and tiring for young children. To make the trip even more daunting, Curt, Laura, and Steve also suffered from motion sickness on long rides.
When I was about eight years old, the whole family traveled from Highland Park to Westwood to visit our great-grandmother Della Marsh (sadly for the last time). Great Grandma had prepared for our visit with snacks, including a bunch of bananas.
We all liked bananas, but my brother Steve has always had a special affinity for them. (He told me recently he still eats a banana every day.)
Great Grandma gave us each a banana, which we quickly consumed. Then Steve asked for another; it was quickly eaten. He asked yet another, and Great Grandma, with amusement, handed him one. It too disappeared. My mother, who had been protesting all along, as bananas disappeared, finally stepped in and said, "No more bananas (clearly anticipating disaster on the lengthy ride home."
