A month or maybe two ago, I was trying to help a 4th-grader with a math lesson. While we were at it, his classmates left their room to go to a "specialist"—art, or PE, or music, can't remember the details now. When we were done, I escorted him to the specialist, just to make sure he got there. As we walked along, he mentioned he was hungry and happy it was almost lunch time. I asked whether he ate the school lunch or brought one from home. He said he ate the school lunch, which he rated "just ok," and then, unprompted by me, added, I guess by way of explanation, that even though his mom had two jobs and was very busy, she'd probably make him a lunch if he asked.
"So," he concluded, "that's why I don't ask."
Fourth grade!
Had almost forgotten that little incident from my life till yesterday it popped into my spotty memory while, for around the jillionth time, I was washing by hand those little plastic containers I use to put a little of this and a little of that into the lunches my kids eat every Monday through Friday because the hot one at school is "disgusting." Feeling crabby, I observed to the 6th-grader that it appeared she had eaten her PBJ and most everything else, including a mini Milky Way bar, but not, as far as I could tell, a single green grape.
"Yes, dad," she said, "but the J stands for jelly, and there's fruit in jelly."
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