The end of the school year is approaching and it reminds me of how excited I got as a child during this time. The weather is warming, summer is looming, and freedom is calling. And to celebrate this occasion, I — along with many other children — would lose their minds.
I would not consider myself the best student. I had okay grades, I got along with people alright and I obeyed teachers [mostly]. But I’ve never felt like school, or work, or anything “socially required” quite frankly, jibes with who I really am… I’ll do it, but it isn’t what brings me joy.
What brings me joy is food. And making people happy. And the combination of the two whenever possible. Even if at school or work or other socially required functions.
So there we were in the cafeteria, a week or two before the end of the school year. Dozens of kids sat around the long, stool-ridden tables while we ate our lunches, mine, packed, others tray-ed. Whatever the school lunch was that day required small bowls of exposed salsa placed strategically for any grubby hands to pour or dip into (germs didn’t exist in the 80’s).
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I, not having a “hot” lunch, still loved salsa very much and decided to dare myself to do something for attention. I looked around and asked, “Does anyone dare me to drink all the bowls of salsa on the table?” Now, mind you, this was very generic, mild, runny, store-bought salsa, not exactly a prequel to the interview show, “Hot Ones,” but still, when you’re seven, it’s a pretty good risk.
As expected, everyone agreed this would be the best use of my time. So I accumulated the bowls, waited for the teachers to turn their backs, and quickly chugged the chunky coulis.
When finished, I grandly looked around at my adoring fans, only to realize the recess bell had rung, lunch was over (as was my spotlight) and most of the kids were turned away from me running toward the playground.
Defeated, I placed the bowls down, looked sheepishly at the disapproving teachers and followed the other children to the fresh air.
I think it was Picasso who said, “The chief enemy of creativity is ‘good’ sense.”
It’s fine. It’s not like I felt like puking the rest of the day or anything.
