On Tuesday mornings, I have cafeteria duty. I hate cafeteria duty. You have to be a cop, making sure the kids follow the procedures and keep the talking to a minimum. “It’s time to eat, not talk. If you continue to talk, you will be asked to leave.” The kind of talk that’s not kind. I do try to greet the kids with a smile and good morning, but breakfast time has one goal. “Eat something.”
When P came in, he didn’t follow procedure. He came straight to me before going through the cafeteria line.
“Good morning,” I said. “I see you have a broken arm. What happened?”
P begins his monologue. A story he has practiced and told before. “I was on my skateboard, and I was trying to go up the two steps, but I hit the first step and fell.”
I express my sympathy, “That must’ve really hurt.”
“Yes, but… that’s not why I’m talking to you. I need help with my tray.”
I jump into action. “Of course, I’ll get your tray for you.” I went through the line, brought him his tray, opened his milk, and packaged, heated breakfast sandwich.
His smile and puppy dog eyes were thanks enough.
Later, I was walking down the hall to transfer to my next school. P’s kindergarten class was dutifully lined up to go to P.E. or library. He stepped out of the line when he saw me and whispered something I couldn’t understand.
I leaned over, put my arm around his good shoulder and leaned in. He whispered, “I love you.”
My heart melted. I actually had tears in my eyes as I wandered out to my car. I’m going to change my perspective on cafeteria duty.
Reflections on the Teche 