Saltines and Ketchup

I just ate some saltine crackers for my afternoon snack. Something funny has happened to me everytime I have ever eaten a saltine cracker since I was in the sixth grade. It always makes me think of a story we read in school about a young homeless boy in New York City who lives on rations of saltine crackers and ketchup packets he takes from the nearby diner. For some reason, it is one of the only details I can remember about the story. I don't know what it was called, what the boy's name was or even what happens to him after he eats his dinner of saltines and ketchup in his cubby hole somewhere in the subway station. But I do remember the details of how he would only take one bite of the cracker every so often to make it last, and how the crackers with ketchup on them were worth savoring even more.

The human memory is so funny sometimes. How is it we remember such seemingly insignificant details and yet can often forget more important ones? This story-whatever it is called- touched me enough as an eleven-year-old, that I still think of the young boy and still feel grateful that I have always had more food to eat than just crackers and ketchup. I sure wish I could remember more about the story and what it was called. I would love to read it again.