Everyone get ready," my sister excitedly called out to my brother and me. "Mother and daddy are almost out of the driveway."

Growing up in the late 1940s, there was not much to do for fun in the small town of Ellwood City.

Every Wednesday evening, my parents went on a date. A double feature was playing at either one of two theaters in town, the Majestic or the Manos. The price of a ticket was 35 cents. They could often see their favorite actor, Cary Grant, or their favorite actress, Jean Arthur, in one of the films.

As soon as we were out from under parental control, we could count on at least two hours to complete the project we looked forward to from week to week.

Before my parents left, they gave my brother strict instructions:

"Donnie, being the oldest, you are in charge. Be certain the three of you do your homework before you listen to the radio. If you play outside, make sure you are in the house before the street lights come on. Lastly, do not let your sisters use the stove. We will be home before it is time for the three of you to go to bed."

"You can count on me," my brother sheepishly responded.

My mother, sister and I often baked sweet treats such as donuts and cookies. However, candy was not allowed on a regular basis. My parents kept a bag of Brach's hard candy hidden so well, we could never find it.

Every Friday night, we three children lined up, anxiously waiting for our dad to dole out our one candy piece per week. An exception would be getting an extra piece on those occasions when we needed it to kill the taste of having castor oil forced down our throat to help Mother Nature. Yuk!

To further satisfy our sweet tooth, we decided to make fudge.

"Get the pan and cocoa, Patty, I will get the milk and sugar," my sister excitedly announced. "We must not waste time."

Before we started, we had to swear our brother to secrecy. We did this by promising him one-half of the fudge. Also, part of the deal was he didn't have to do any of the work, just be a part of the cover-up.

Soon the aroma of the fudge bubbling up permeated the air with the sweetest of smells. My sister and I took turns stirring the mixture, dropping a small portion in a glass of water to see if it formed a ball. If it did, we knew it was ready. Hooray!

Sometimes we would panic, afraid we would not get it done in time. When that happened, we ate the runny mixture with a spoon so we wouldn't get caught in the act.

When it was not our turn to stir, we had fun wrestling on the living room floor with our brother. Another forbidden activity -- wow!

When the treat was ready, we gave our brother his promised half. He immediately started to devour it. We started eating ours and we thought we were in seventh heaven. I wonder if it didn't taste exceptionally good because we thought we were getting away with something.

"We can't eat all of the pieces at once. Can we come up with a plan?" I asked my sister, Beverly. She put her fingers to her forehead, deep in thought.

"I know what we can do," I blurted out. "Quick, hide the uneaten pieces in the kitchen cupboard we hardly ever use -- all it holds is junk. Mother and daddy will never notice the difference. When daddy is at work and mother is either outside or down in the basement, we will finish devouring it."

When our parents arrived home from the movies, the house still smelled of chocolate, the milk and sugar supply had dwindled, and we must have looked guilty. Being forced to confess would certainly bring about severe punishment.

Looking back, our naivete makes me smile.

Our parents must have known what was going on. Maybe they allowed this behavior as a treat since we were fairly good kids. Or maybe they felt guilty for not taking us to the movies with them. Or maybe they thought our guilt was punishment enough.

Even though future years would require many unpleasant trips to the dentist for us three kids, nothing deterred us from cooking up many more batches of fudge!