We got a glass of pop and a bowl with potato chips and pretzels in it on weekend evenings.
But I was a spoiled brat, my dad's JP office was in our basement and he had a Coke machine down there. I learned where the key was kept and used to enjoy those little bottles of Coke. Had the cavities to prove it, too.
And the dentist would smack you if you didn't hold still.
On a side note, may have said this before, but Sly Stone was arraigned in our basement for some sort of speeding ticket on the turnpike.
I also think the serial killer Stanley Hoss had been in our basement when he was arrested.
There were always policemen, who sometimes used to handcuff me for fun.
And Daddy did a lot of weddings, once in the middle of the night with Mom in her housecoat as a witness.