Wednesday, June 17, 2009

Looked better in print

What was advertised:
Celebrate the Joy of Reading!

Every student will receive a new book Monday June 15th, thanks to our grant from the children's literacy program.

Parents are invited to join in our celebration of reading by enjoying a BBQ lunch together on Monday June 15th.

The Ex usually covers school-day events since he works in the area, but the Ex was scheduled to be out of town that day. So Monday I added some vacation time onto my lunch hour and headed south to partake in a celebratory BBQ lunch with Young Son. A BBQ! With new books! What fun!

I envisioned everyone sitting on blankets in the schoolyard, munching burgers and hot dogs, books being handed out, maybe a short speech... you know.

What actually happened:

The handful of parents who attended joined their kids in the lunch line. Young Son's class was the last one in line. When it was our turn, we grabbed a disposable styrofoam tray, loaded it up with our pre-grilled burgers - very well-done- condiments and chocolate milk, and went to find a seat. The weather was nice so most of the collapsible lunch tables with benches on wheels had been set up outside on an adjoining covered concrete slab. Those table being full, we wandered back into the lunchroom/gym/auditorium where we found an open corner at a table full of 6-9 year old girls and one other adult.

At the five minute warning, we finished up and obediently cleared our places. Maybe now there would be a presentation outside. Young Son ran over to tell his friend he would meet him at the tetherball pole. We walked outside together, whereupon Young Soon sprinted off to the far reaches of the playground.

I walked over to where he sat, near the tetherball pole.
M: "What am I supposed to do now?"

YS: "Oh, you can go back to work if you want."

An hour in the car, half an hour in an elementary school lunchroom. At least I got chocolate milk.

1 comment:

  1. Quite a celebration. That would annoy me too. They always make it sound so good on paper, don't they? Fuckers.


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