I started back to work last week, and as an accomodation to Julie (so that she can work at the school also, and I can deliver her to the bus stop in time for her to make her afternoon classes), I changed my schedule. Now I arrive when the kids do, and my first assignment of the day is to monitor the lunchroom.
Except it's breakfast being served.
And for some inexplicable reason, I have found the entire process very sad. I've been trying to figure it out.
I have fond memories of school lunchrooms past, when we were served split pea soup--which looked awful and I never dared taste! I remember the delicious aroma of rolls baking during the morning hours, wafting through the halls, as I suffered through math and science. I remember thick slices of bread, spread with peanut butter. I remember mashed potatoes smothered in some kind of gravy that I thought was quite tasty. We had real trays in those days, with real forks and spoons, which we emptied in a garbage can and placed on a conveyor belt to be sprayed and disinfected, readied for the next day. There wasn't a yogurt option, or a PB & J option, and you didn't get to pick out your sides in neat little containers with lids. All the food looked homemade. It looked like something that might have come out of anybody's mom's kitchen. Not McDonalds or Subway. We did have chocolate milk, though. The one thing that remains the same.
But I've gotten sidetracked with my memories, because this blog isn't about the lunchroom being used for lunch. It's about it being used for breakfast. And for some crazy reason, it strikes me as sad, that all those kids who are lined up with their styrofoam trays filled with cocoa puffs and pop tarts were dropped off at the school hungry.
It's not logical, I know. There's nothing superior about the cocoa puffs Andrew gulps down at our house. (If I were serving oatmeal, that might be an issue, but let's be honest!) Even our conversation, which consists mostly of me saying, "Don't talk; you're going to be late!" isn't anything to write home about.
And I do understand why the parents opt for school breakfast. For many--maybe most in my school, it's because it's free. I understand that better than I wish I did. For others, maybe it's an issue of time. Mom and Dad have to be at work early; the kids can eat at school. And sometimes I'm sure some of the kids are at home begging--they just plain like it better than the home rations. They like it; it's cheap; why not?
But whatever the reason, there's something inside of me that feels a little sad. Like we're giving something up. Feeding our children seems like our most basic parental responsibility. Lunchtime makes sense--afterall, they're all ready there. But breakfast--for some reason I can't quite put my finger on, it just feels right to send my son out the door with a kiss, a prayer, and a full tummy.
