I guess there are quite a few things I could point out about my journal entry from 1983. One being my handwriting hasn't improved much. And yes, that is pen over pencil. When I was 15 I traced over all my penciled entries to ensure my 8 year old memory and angst wasn't lost to history. Phew. Perhaps you noticed how diligent I was in my memory keeping. I can explain the 4 month lapse of time though - 3rd grade was hard, what with all the spelling tests. And recesses. Hopefully, my adventure in blogging doesn't echo past experience where every other entry begins with the line “I'm going to write in my journal every day." Which all seems rather admirable and ambitious until the next entry 9 months later that starts, “I haven't written in my journal in a long time."
But this is not why we're here, we're here to talk about germs.
The lunch lady waved me over during my visit to the school this week. She is a fastidious person, a woman many of the other moms at school have always been slightly scared of. Her school kitchen is impeccable and I can only imagine the level of clean her own kitchen has attained. We have always had a good rapport and I greeted her kindly when she yoo-hooed me across the cafeteria. “I just want you to know about Eli," she began. “When he takes his sandwich out of the bag, he lays it right down on the table." She seemed pretty grossed out by this, although seeing as how she works in an elementary school cafeteria, I can only imagine the countless other atrocities that would better merit flagging down a parent. She informed me the tables were disinfected every day and since he was the first group that ate lunch it was most likely clean, however, would I please teach him to lay his sandwich on a napkin - and that she likes Eli and thinks he is a really good kid, aside from the not laying his sandwich on the napkin part. I assured her I would but privately wondered how long it had been since the bottom of those tables had been disinfected and if she knew where kids would wipe their hands if their napkin was being used as a plate.
And then all the talk about germs reminded me of my aforementioned journal entry:
We had traveled to Chicago that day in November 1983 to visit The Brookfield Zoo. We saw the new rain forest exhibit and a dolphin show at the aquarium. My only disappointment was my parents wouldn't pay for a mold-a-rama animal. Oh the humanity! I know. Our final stop was The Reptile House. Putting it that way seems rather foreboding but I assure you of its appropriateness. The humid, dank air of the building was more than just off putting for me, and I began to feel sick almost immediately. By the time we had wandered the building sufficiently for everyone's interest and enjoyment, I was violently ill. My dad carried me back to the car as I had lost all strength to stand and was overcome with fever, chills and ache. We joked about it for years afterward, finding it funny that I had been surrounded by numerous feared and poisonous reptiles but was “bitten" by a bug instead.
I wish I could protect my kids from all of life's germs. Hide them away from danger. Keep them safe. But eventually they'll press their face up against the glass at the reptile house, look at something dangerous, get bit, get sick, and then, I pray, get stronger. I hope the lunch lady wasn't too taken aback I didn't find Eli's behavior more disconcerting. Given the brewing petri dish environment of most schools, it's a wonder he hasn't been sick all year. But I'll talk to Eli about his sandwich placement, there's no need to further worry the lunch lady.
