Lunch Duty
One Teacher's Take on School Lunches
It's twenty minutes before the noon hour. I've taken my daily post at the end of the line. All the little learning machines are anxiously awaiting fuel before returning to our academic cubicles. Can't blame 'em for salivating. They've been at it since 7:40 a.m., an hour most birds are still singing from their nests. Lunchtime is a student's one and only break from classroom lunacy.
A precious thirty minutes are allotted for refueling — two-thirds of which just might be spent in line. I stand in the same spot every day, taking occasional breaks from my musing observation for questions about the day's menu or frequent jabs at the food I manage to scarf down while standing — which of course resembles nothing the learning institution feeds our children.
While waiting for their feeding, my lovely students make fun of me for inhaling — and occasionally spilling — crazy things like rice and vegetables...or even more exotic things like tortillas stuffed with hummus and spinach or a tofu sandwich. I try to convince the stubborn beasts that I actually enjoy the taste of my own lunch time rituals. But to them, it simply can not compare to the treats they find at the front of the line.
I cringe as I watch them fill their trays with the daily special: hotdog and french-fries, or lasagna sitting in a puddle of grease, or the favorite "chicken teriyaki" I swear they scoop up in their backyards, hoping it's hard. Most kids prefer the ala cart option. Who wouldn't? This allows for pizza everyday, pretzels oozing with that gooey nacho cheese, or a plain order of french fries. Many addictive types skip all that and jump to the sweets — cookies, cake, ice cream or best of all-chocolate chip cookie dough.
I can't help but let my mind go to those torturous places that ask questions like: How do all those preservatives and chemicals and dyes and fat and sugar and things I can't pronounce but scare the hell out of me, how do they keep a kid's mind, body, and spirit from REALLY figuring things out?
I tried the cookie dough once. Cause really, who doesn't love raw dough? I had a tummy ache 'til I left that night for la la land. I want to know who brainstormed that idea and who gave it the a-ok? The money man, maybe? Why do we insist on reinforcing such unhealthy eating habits by selling kids the ol' shit on a stick? Hell, it may only be a matter of time 'til "the man" actually begins offering shit as a cheaper alternative.
Of course, the idea that healthy food is more expensive is up for serious debate. Perhaps we need to ask bigger questions like, which money man is sleeping with the other. Perhaps its not a question of how much profit but WHO profits.
All of this goes without mentioning that kids at the end of the line are usually waiting with sour moods knowing that only ten minutes will remain before the cafeteria clearing crew starts blowing their whistle and kicking 'em out. Only a few minutes are given to sit and converse with friends over a shared meal of pizza and cookie dough.
There are alternatives. A school in northeast Wisconsin contracts with a natural food distributor and feeds organic nutritious meals to the students most "mainstream" schools don't want. These "bad seeds" sit at round tables and enjoy slow meals together in a relaxed environment. Those of us who have experimented with this strange concept when planning our own meals can predict the response. Grades up, attendance up, attitudes up. Imagine that.
There are so many things wrong with our schools. It's easy to assume that cafeteria food is just that. Cafeteria food. It's the reality of an institution and change here is not a priority. Somehow folks can deny that the meals traveling on trays aren't directly related to our youth's behavior and performance. Yet, it is so clear to me that food is our source of life. It either helps our bodies and minds stay clear or it clogs them up.
The monitors have begun to shout, "LUNCH IS OVER!" End of the line kids are shoving whole meals down their throats since nothing is allowed to leave the feeding mill. I force myself to act like one of the adults by encouraging kids to exit the building while giving rushed kids sympathetic smiles. Twenty-three hours and thirty minutes to go before another cafeteria experience gets lost in my head. And then another, and then another. Until the first revolt, that is. A good clean food fight, perhaps. Let's hope its sooner than later, for my sake, as much as theirs — and yours.