While in the States I attended a fundraiser for the local elementary school at a neighborhood restaurant. The event made me ponder the upside of celibacy.
Picture pressurized busloads of children suddenly and simultaneously being released into a contained yet public space. Several dozens of children, some of them birthed right there in the restaurant I swear, soon overwhelmed the capacity of the kitchen to produce food and the capacity of the wait staff to deliver it. It was like being in a battle scene from Braveheart.
There were children under tables, on top of tables, crawling between tables, wearing menus on their head as a hat, and having meltdowns with the consistency of Old Faithful. The din was constant as the children outshouted one another. Madness I tell you.
The ratio of food being worn vs. food being consumed was about 1:1. I actually saw a kid with a meatball in his ear. How is that even possible?
Oblivious to the unwashed masses were the parents. They spent most of their time not knowing where their children were, nor if they had eaten, nor in fact acting as if they had children at all. Instead each table of adults was deep in conversation, alcohol consumption, and frequent breastfeeding. The fashion scene was ripe with the it-looks-suspiciously-like-a-veteran-homeschooler-length skirt and handmade knitwear.
Rising above it all was the Principal. Parting the sea of children like Moses, she floated between the tables cracking jokes and glad-handing with grace and bemusement. This was her night off: not my kids, not my problem.
Supporting the school was of course worth it. And I confess I felt very much alive from being part of the experience. But next year I am just going to mail in the donation from the comfort of my own kitchen table.
[If you know someone else who might enjoy a lighthearted story to begin their week, kindly forward them WordsfortheWeary. The more the merrier.]
