Plucky Letters to US soldiers in Iraq

April 1, 2003


Dear Rob,

Happy April Fool’s Day! (You’ve got something on your shirt.)
I have a special treat for you today, which I will put at the end of this letter. It is WAY cute and WAY good. You’ll love it, and I suggest you share it with your buddies, because it is priceless.

Being a Lunch-Lady on April Fools day is a trip. I can’t count the number of times a small child pointed at my shirt today to inform me, quite gleefully, that I had something on it. I, being nice, would act like I had no idea whatsoever that this might be an April Fool thing. I would look down and say, “Really? Where?” at which point the delighted child would get to yell, “APRIL FOOL!” and I would act utterly surprised. They loved it.

The kids really deserve to get one over on me once in awhile. I lie to them all the time. Seriously, I am the Lying Lunch-Lady. When they ask silly questions, I just make things up. My boss, Ethel, gets a big kick out of it because I am so good at it. Some kid will say, “Eeeuwww, what’s THAT??” and I nonchalantly say, “It’s from McDonald’s. Our oven broke down, so we had to get McDonald’s to bring this over.” The kid will then eagerly take the questionable food, whatever it might be, because it’s from McDonald’s and therefore “kid approved.”

Today we had sugar cookies sprinkled with cinnamon. David M. (whining 2rd grader) said “I don’t like that stuff on there!” I said “No problem, I have extras over here that don’t have it.” I gave him an identical cookie and he took it, no questions asked. Ethel cackled with glee. Then Alex R. (very cute but picky 1st grader) said “I don’t want no smashed potatoes!” I said “Well, don’t worry about it, Alex! Today we changed the menu because the smasher broke down. We only have regular potatoes today.” He looked a little confused, but he ate the “smashed” potatoes. With gravy.

Gravy seems to be rather confusing for a lot of our kids. On days that we have cheese sauce, they say, “I don’t want no gravy!” On days we have gravy they say, “I don’t want no sauce!” On days we have red sauce they say, “I don’t want none of that red gravy!” Today, having “smashed” potatoes & gravy, I had a lot of fun. Some kid would come up to the window and say, “I don’t want no sauce!” I would, very casually, say “Okay, I’ll give you gravy instead.” Then the kid is stuck with the gravy because I’ve decided if he can’t identify it, he has no real right to refuse it.

There are ethnic trends that I have observed. It may not be politically correct to notice these things, but I notice them anyway because I am not politically correct. (Hey, I’m blond, what do you expect?) Ethnically speaking, the African-American (black, in blond-speak) kids are usually more polite than the European-American (white, in blond-speak) kids. Nobody knows why this is true, but I suspect they have better mothers. Food-wise, the differences are clear. On a day when we have broccoli, I can guarantee you that 60% of the white kids will say, “eeeuwww” and not want broccoli. 95% of the black kids will want broccoli, and 40% of black kids will ask for extra broccoli. Same goes for green beans. On the other hand, tuna salad sandwiches are exclusively eaten by white kids. No black kid worth his salt will touch one with a ten foot spork.

Black kids also don’t like cookies very much for some reason. 1 out of 5 black kids will turn down the cookie with any given meal. 99% of white kids want the cookie.

Indian kids are the most interesting. Sridhama is a kindergarten kid whose mother simply cannot adjust to American ideas of child independence. She calls nearly every day to tell us what Sridhama should be allowed to eat. Now, keep in mind, we have been told nearly every day for the entire school year that Sridhama cannot have meat. On top of that, Sridhama TELLS us everyday “NO MEAT.” We get it already. Two or three times a week Sridhama’s mom comes to supervise his lunch. She brings all kinds of white stuff that nobody can identify. Sridhama has a bad habit of throwing up white stuff immediately after his mother leaves, and then asking for potato chips. (This kid loves potato chips)

Sridhama, of course, speaks perfect English by now. But his mother doesn’t believe that he speaks perfect English. (probably because she cannot understand him when he speaks perfect English.) So she always tries to interpret to me what he is saying. It really cracks me up, because Sridhama will say something like “Can I get some Scooby Snacks?” and his mother will then haltingly tell me that “My son wishing to aquire very tiny packaging of small old television foods.” I really have to admire her accuracy, though.

On any day that we serve Freedom Fries (we are no longer allowed to use the word “French” for anything) Sridhama’s mom will ALWAYS call and say “Susaaan! You have today the Frenchies Flies? My son will aquire the Frenchies Flies!” (She has learned to ask for me because Ethel cannot understand a word she says. There is no good reason I can understand her; I just do.)

There are a few other Indian kids, but most of them have been in school long enough to restrict their mothers to showing up less frequently. Some of the Indian moms hang around outside the school every morning talking and staring at the windows, maybe trying to figure out how to break in and personally supervise every moment of their kids’ lives. But I’ll tell you this: if there is an assembly, an awards event, a singing program, or any other kind of parental event, the first seats go to the Indian mothers. They are very much involved in their kid’s education. Which is maybe why they are soooo much smarter than your average American.

The Asians are cool, too. On Saturday I was at the Post Office mailing you a package. I saw second grader Anders Lu. He was very excited to see me, told his mom “Hey, hey, that’s Mrs. Hart from school lunch!!” His mother, a small Asian lady, couldn’t have cared less.

Today when he came for lunch he was wearing a desert cammie hat. The kind sort of like Gilligan’s hat, with the round brim all the way ‘round. He suddenly noticed my 101st Eagle lapel pin which I wear every day on my collar at work. He yelled “HEY! Where did you get that pin?!!” I said “My son is in the 101st Airborne, Anders. He is fighting right now in the war.” Anders was star struck. “But I KNOW that one, that one is UP HIGH! How did he get up that high?” (I wasn’t too sure what he meant at that point) I just said “Anders, that’s the insignia for the 101st Airborne. That’s my son’s job in the war. Go eat your lunch.” Anders would not even get out of the way so the next kid could get lunch. He was all “Yeah, but that’s the one my dad had, and that’s way up high! Oh, wow, wait till I tell my dad!”

I got him to move on, then after everybody got lunch I went out to find him. I asked him where he got his hat. He said “My dad was a one hundred and thirst airflung! That’s how he met my mom! And, wow, that is SO HIGH UP! I can’t believe they gave you that pin. You have to be airflung to get that, you know!” I agreed that being “airflung” was, indeed, a noble thing. I think I’ll order another lapel pin just for Anders. He made my day, and Ethel’s.


And, so, Rob, be proud that you are One Hundred and Thirst Airflung. Anders Lu, 2rd grade kid from the West Side sure is proud of you!
And so am I.

TTFN.

Love,
--Mom