3-12-02, Side Streets, Kimra Traynor Herb
Nothing Changes in a School Lunchroom
By Kimra Traynor Herb
IPS Features
My youngest son
and I have a standing date every Monday and Friday for lunch. I check into the
school, get my visitor's pass, and spend forty five minutes inhaling the
lunchroom scent which has not changed since my childhood. Souring milk, ketchup,
and little kid smell all mingle together to create that aroma of educational
culinary delights at their best. Last Monday, however, I was late. Late as in:
really, really late. I left home already behind schedule; my writing had left me
temporarily unaware of how late the hour was becoming. The problem was
compounded when I encountered not only a train, but a flag man on my travels.
Suffice it to say, my son was not pleased when I showed up with just minutes
left of his lunchtime.
"Mom!"
He cried. "Did you realize it was Monday?!"
I told him that
yes, indeed, I knew the day; I had just become waylaid and I was very sorry.
He was saving
you a seat, you know." One of the little girls from his class informed
e. (I guess she wanted to add to my already huge guilt).
"I
know." I replied. "I just got busy and lost track of the time."
He stared at me
long and hard. "Okay." He said, and then smiled. At least you are here
in time to take my lunchbox home with you, so I don't have to have it crowding
up my backpack."
I told him that
it was nice to be needed, even if it was just as an official lunchbox removal
service.
His teachers
greeted me, and I told them that I was embarrassed at arriving for lunch with
just seconds left on the clock.
"You are
welcome to come out onto the playground with us." One of them generously
invited.
The playground!
Ah, my favorite "subject" when I was in elementary school. I told her
thank you very much, I would enjoy that immensely.
At first, my son
was pleased by this abrupt change in our twice weekly schedule. After all, he
was the only child who had his mother holding his hand (and his lunchbox) as we
made our way to the playground. Once upon the playground, however, his demeanor
changed, and he stared at me long and hard. "How long are you
staying?" He asked, looking longingly at his group of friends.
"Oh, I just
thought we'd make up for missing lunch; do a little talking, that kind of
thing." I told him.
"Oh."
He said, and jotted off with three other little boys. I stood, watching them
play, smiling at their enthusiasm and energy. I thought to myself that my little
boy had to be the sweetest, most charming child who had ever roamed the
playground. It was then, just as the thought had barely formed in my mind, that
I saw him raise his middle finger and point it at another child. I lurched
my way over to him and yelled, "Don't do that! Do you know what that
means?!!!!"
The recipient of
his upraised finger crowded close, apparently interested in hearing the answer.
My son's eyes widened, and he squeaked, "No, what DOES it mean?"
Darn all those
PG-13 movies we had let him watch with his older brothers, I thought, and
quickly wondered how I was going to get out of this mess. "Well, I can't
tell you the word," I said, "but it is a BAD one. A VERY BAD ONE! And
you must never point that finger at a person again!"
All the boys
stared at me, and my son promised to never do it again, but, he wondered,
couldn't I PLEASE just tell him what it meant? In order to get off the hook, I
told him I would tell him later (a promise I admittedly have broken, as the
subject has been dropped) and gave him a quick hug.
"Mom?"
He said, pulling away from my grasp.
"What,
honey?" I replied.
"WHEN are
you going to leave?"
"Why?"
I asked, stung.
"I want you
to leave." He said.
"But Mrs.
Cash invited me to come out with you." I said, "Because I missed
lunch."
"Okay."
He nodded. "Now you came out, and now you can go home. You probably have
lots to do."
Hey, I can take
a hint. Having a mom on the playground, especially one who catches you doing
your worst, is seriously damaging even to a five year old's social life.
"Mom!" He called out to me as I picked up the lunchbox and headed off
to my car.
"Yes?"
I answered.
"Friday,
don't be late!"