Parents of school kids: you know the feeling. You hear the faint strains of the Jaws theme as you open your child’s backpack. You reach in to see what’s come home for you and pull out The Notice. Your pupils dilate and your pulse quickens. Your blood turns to Slurpee slush in your veins. You shake your head no no NO! But there it is: The Fundraiser.
You now get the pleasure of shilling the most random items imaginable to people you hold near and dear, and hope against hope that the will continue to hold you near and dear after your shameless plug. Because let’s face it, how much of the selling does your kid actually do? Yeah, I thought so.
Oh, to be on the kid side of The Fundraiser again. Not a care in the world beyond which prize they want (and there are always prizes). This prize will almost always require a 50% uptake in sales than is reasonable. But they will look at you with puppy dog eyes, or give you some lame story about how all the other kids will get that prize, or possibly, if they’re particularly savvy at playing you like the fiddle you are, appeal for putting the needs of the school above their own (all the while still eying that tote bag or super bouncy ball or, in my aging memory, transistor radio) (Yes, I am old). You will briefly consider you going to the store to buy said prize, as it will invariably be cheaper than your dignity, but ultimately, you will give in and become the Cookie Dough Pusher. Bye bye, Dignity.
But that is all behind us. I dutifully hit up my parents, my brother, my sister, my school kidless friends, and several in-laws on behalf of my son, requesting the purchase of just 1 item from the collection of cookie dough, magazines, candles, and jelly rolls (but alas, no cheese and sausage, which was always a favorite product line in my elementary days – I’m guess the Atkins diet is far enough out of favor these days) (neither was there popcorn, but I suppose the Boy Scouts corner the market on that). Everyone is still speaking to me, I think. But I’m absolutely sure most of them are already planning payback for when their kids hit the hallowed halls. I’m going to be buried in overpriced wrapping paper in the near future.
The saddest part is that Sammy didn’t even pick his prize. He probably didn’t even notice that there were prizes, and I could have gotten off scott free but for my stupid Need to Do Well. We had to make a proper showing and prove we are a Participating Family. This was all me. I remember the days of needing to sell just a few more boxes of cookies to get to that t-shirt, or just a couple more magazine subscription to take home the cutest little stuffed bunny ever (note: it was not the cutest stuffed bunny ever and was probably worth less than a single magazine subscription). And so I made sure my kid hit the mark. I’ve said it before; clearly, I need therapy.
It all came full circle today for both Sammy and for me. Sammy got to ride a limousine away from school for a pizza lunch off campus, and I watched his smile grow 3 sizes at the sight of a giant stretch Hummer and heard his delighted recollection of partaking in 4 slices of pizza, several brownies, and the a vat of red punch with his little buddies. Totally worth it.
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