I was in third grade craving a Lunchable for my school field trip. I asked my mom. My mom told me to ask my dad. I asked my dad. My dad immediately began to question the concept of a Lunchable and why I “needed to have one.”
“But dad, everyone is going to have a Lunchable. I want one, too. I don’t want leftovers.”
“You’ll have a good lunch, mama. You don’t want barbeque chicken, macaroni and cheese, string beans, and potato salad?” Apparently, he was more excited about the leftovers than I was. He tried to convince me.
No, I said internally with a dazed and confused look on my face, dropping my shoulders.
“You’re not getting a Lunchable. You’re going to eat what I make you.”
I didn’t push the issue any further. He went on to criticize the concept of a Lunchable and how good I had it in comparison to him as a child.
Nearly 30 years later, I cannot tell you where my third-grade class went for our field trip. But what I can tell you is I thought having a Lunchable would give me the status I needed to be part of the ingroup.
I was still “the new girl.” But instead of experiencing the warmth of initial and sustained interest from the children, their friendships from kindergarten, first-, and second grade took priority. So, my school-based friendships were nearly nonexistent. I interpreted myself being on the outside looking in. Without a doubt, my third grader provides major insight on why I approach supporting children the way I do.
During lunch time on this day of the field trip, I sat by myself and took my lunch out of my backpack with a mixture of feeling hungry and dread for leftovers. Leftovers. I wanted to be in the in-crowd, sharing cheese and crackers, and opinions on the field trip. Instead, I examined my perspiring lunch in its to-go like container. I opened the container, gave it one last look, and then grabbed my spoon. I scooped a spoon full of macaroni and cheese and put it into my mouth. “Not bad I thought.” I took another bite and thought, “This is actually pretty good.” Then I went for the barbequed chicken. Then the string beans. Then the potato salad.
“This is really good,” I thought to myself. I was so happy to be eating good-tasting food.
When my dad picked me up at the end of the school day, I told him how delicious the food was; and I complimented him on his potato salad. He cooked everything, but I always enjoyed his potato salad with the special effect of just the right amount of paprika.
The day before, my dad attempted to talk me into understanding of why homecooked food was better than cheese and crackers with a cookie. But I couldn’t understand until I had my own experience. As the old adage goes, “Some things cannot be understood. They can only be experienced.”
Give thanks for the power of understanding that is transmitted through experience. This same power occurs to our children when they are simply eating and enjoying good homecooked food.
Ashley M. Blanco 