So, several of our
middle school students came up to me and
breathlessly announced, “There was a food fight at
school today!” Of course,
they also simultaneously denied any
culpability. “I
sure didn’t throw anything . . .one of my friends,
like, got hit with some butter, though. It was
gross!”
“You were just innocent bystanders?” I
asked.
“Well,” one pure-of-heart 8th
grader replied, “I may have, like, sort of thrown
something . . .just kind of sent it back where it
came from . . .you know . . .maybe.”
I tried to look the part of
the concerned adult as I listened to this account
from my young friends, but my mind wandered off to
other places.
[The following
is not for young, impressionable readers or those
who still hold any vestige of respect for
me:
When I was a freshman in college, our
cafeteria was located in the basement of one of
the older dorms on campus. The place
held lots of history . . . and it somehow simply
begged us to leave some indication of our having
passed through those semi-hallowed halls. One late
afternoon, during the insufferable spring
semester, an event spontaneously occurred which
did indeed leave such a mark. It was one
of those rare and wondrous experiences which began
“innocently” with the flick of a pea from a spoon,
and then rapidly escalated into the mother of all
food fights.
Among other images which
still float through my memory regarding that
particular moment is the one involving the small
bowl of mashed potatoes which flew past my head
and hit, potatoes first, on the wall just behind
me.
The thick ‘tater slurry instantly formed an
airtight gasket of sorts around the lip of the
bowl, allowing it to slide down the wall only a
few inches before coming to a halt.
Either because it
represented such a remarkable achievement, or
because it was about the same off-white color as
the wall, that bowl, glued to the wall with
tenacious carbohydrate adhesive, remained in place
for many weeks. I
still marvel at the thing—and have never been able
to duplicate that feat, even though having
attempted to do so many times.]
Returning from my
reverie, I presented a lame expression somewhere
between righteous concern and utter disinterest
(hoping, of course, to discourage any further such
behavior.)
I duly ascertained that “none of our kids”
were involved in this irresponsible and frivolous
activity, and then we went on to other
things.
Frankly, I forgot all about
said incident until I saw in our little hometown
newspaper an article reporting on, of all things,
the middle school food fight! (I
obviously had failed to recognize the magnitude of
this event.)
According to the
report, the school administrative team had met to
determine a course of action. On Monday,
then, “the students were escorted into the
cafeteria and instructed not to talk . . . . (They were
reminded) about their roles in keeping the school
a safe and healthy place that is focused on
learning.
(They were told to) help each other
discover what is appropriate and what isn’t
appropriate.” Said the
administrator, “We all know that adolescents
sometimes make poor choices and we are helping
them learn to make better choices.” (LA
Monitor, p. 8, 3/29/05)
Now, note well: I would
never attempt to justify a food fight (as a matter
of fact, I have seen one or two in my day which
were entirely uncalled for and wasted some
perfectly good dessert).
Furthermore, I understand the concern of
the administrators: throwing
food around in the cafeteria is just not natural
(even if it is cafeteria food). I mean,
for one thing, it is not safe (and I know first
hand the dangers: being
whacked in the side of the head with a Twinkie is
no laughing matter.) Not only
that, but someone went to great lengths to process
a lot of that food into unrecognizable forms and
put it into very expensive packaging. Worst of
all, someone is going to have to clean up the
mess.
OK—seriously. Yes, it is
wasteful.
Food is not something to be taken lightly,
and certainly not to be wasted. (I suspect
that food fights might even be a luxury peculiar
to middle-class Americans—in some parts of the
world, children could scarcely imagine throwing
anything which is edible across the room, and that
is not funny!)
Yes, it is
disrespectful—some kid might be humiliated by
having to wear a pat of butter in his hair through
the day.
Yes, it was a “poor
choice.”
Kids should always think before engaging in
what is obviously adolescent behavior.
And, yes, it is
quite possibly unsafe. In fact, on
further reflection, I would recommend we issue
helmets to middle school kids on general
principle, just because it is middle
school!
I am glad the
administrators addressed the issue in an
even-handed manner and kept the emphasis on the
importance of maintaining the “learning”
environment.
They did a good job, responding in the way
one would expect of capable, professional
educators.
I guess it was just
the very presence of the article in our paper that
prompted this reflection. Someone
considered this topic news fit to print. It showed
up, however, in context with several other
stories:
stories about a relentless war against
terrorists, and about a young kid shooting up his
school, and seemingly endless accounts of painful,
politicized debates concerning the relative value
of the life of a “comatose” woman.
The world is a scary
place . . . and we really do have a huge task when
it comes to our kids. We do have
to teach them all about safety, respectability,
and responsibility. We do have
to show them what is healthy and not healthy, and
help them make better choices.
I just hope that, in the
process of imparting codes of ethics, we also
remember to laugh with them. I hope we
help them enjoy their childhood. I hope we
don’t force them into adulthood too quickly,
demanding that they conform to our adult ways of
seeing.
I hope we don’t squash imagination and
wonder out of them any more quickly than the
inevitable weight of the world will do on its
own.
I’m not talking
about more food fights, of course. I’m
talking about a balanced view of both parenting
and the church’s ministry to kids. Along with
the very serious business of growing up, I hope
our kids discover and hold onto true freedom,
genuine joy, and authentic hope. I hope
they always have a little bit of kid in them,
forever reveling in the mystery and majesty of the
life into which the Giver of All Life has called
them.
Enjoying the
journey, laughing at myself and with you, I am
Yours,
Pastor Chuck
