A cute little story describing a comical childhood adventure.
| Attack of the School Lunch
It was September, in the year 1999, and summer vacation had just departed, to patiently wait for the next brief visit. I was six years old when school started up once more. I was entering first grade and it was such a big step. I would go to school for a whole day now. No longer would I be a little baby, and attend for only three hours. Oh no! Now, I would be in class for six hours, one for each year of my life. I had become a big kid.
I remember that I was so excited and proud each time that I entered the building. Even more so my pride grew, whenever I might glimpse one of the lowly kindergarteners. Poor things, how sad it was that they were so young. However, now we certainly weren’t so immature. We would actually be allowed to bring a lunch, or even better, order one. Not that many first graders ordered lunch. Most of us just brought our peanut butter and jelly sandwiches to school in huge lunch boxes.
It quite possibly could have been the only time that Spiderman, Batman, Superman, Polly Pocket, Barbie, Mickey Mouse, and My Little Pony, had ever sat down to a meal together. Yes, each box or bag had a character of its own. Perhaps there would be a smudge of ketchup on Mickey’s ear, or a drop of grape jelly on Barbie’s ball gown. You never could tell what adventure might arise once you entered the cafeteria.
Through our eyes, the room was giant, the tables were huge, and the lunch ladies terrifying. Yet, I envied those who actually bought lunch. They seemed so brave standing up in the line, like one of the admired sixth graders. Then I ordered my very first school meal.
At the time, I found the system very complicated, and filled with “something’s”. There was something about a card, the letter I and D, you did something with your last name, and maybe there was something to do with a barcode. By the time I had gotten my lunch, my head was spinning. I looked across the room to the first grade tables. It was a long way for a person my size. Who knew if I would live after making it to my seat?
When I reached my spot, I believed that I could comprehend the emotions of a veteran. A few close friends questioned me, but I could not bear to answer. I gazed at my glorious prize. Never in the world, had a soy burger given any one person such delight. The savory flavored juice of victory had been smothered upon the patty. True the limp circle of fake meat was disturbing, but I knew that my tale of battle was worth it.
Through the years, I would learn to battle many more processed foods. Hotdogs would bounce, and in their peculiar, green, steamed skin. Strange pizzas would become inedible, as the thick, cold sauce permitted every topping to slide onto the trays. Hunks of grotesque, yellow goop would appear in tomato soup. And we haven’t even discussed the pancake and sausage on a stick…