On the first day of school I noticed in Mikey’s classroom a name tag for a little boy named Harvey. Now, Harvey isn’t exactly a popular name, but that isn’t what made me do a double take. What gave me pause was that all through elementary school (the same one Mikey attends) I went to school with a boy named Harvey. I knew this Harvey had to be my Harvey’s son.
Sure enough, we bumped into each other at the Halloween festival and laughed about the odds of meeting up 24 years later, in the same place where we last saw each other. Life is funny that way. You know what else is funny? Bake sales.
Bake sales are the classic way in which churches and private schools raise funds, and I remember looking forward to them as a kid–the exception being the part where I stressed over what my mom would make. The thing is, these days, people don’t bake. Nope. They pick up donuts, buy things from the supermarket bakery, or drop by Marie Callender’s for a pie, but they don’t bake. For the bake sale.
I bake. There was no way I was going to drop off something from the store. Harvey, apparently, felt the same way. I posted my progress on Facebook in between Oatmeal Bars. He updated me on his brownies and oatmeal raisin cookies. Together, our smugness stretched across town, fragrant with the scent of home baked goods. When Harvey dropped off his four dozen brownies and oatmeal raisin cookies the next morning, it was all he could do to keep from smirking at the dozens of pink donut boxes. Likewise, my vegan oatmeal bars (raspberry and apricot) were happily received since it meant the kids with egg and dairy allergies could actually participate in the bake sale. When I got back to my car, I looked in the rear-view mirror to make sure my halo was still on straight. It was. It was shiny, too.
Later, Harvy and I discussed our superiority on Facebook.
Later still, Harvey picked up his sons at school. He asked his oldest how the bake sale went, and what he bought. Brownies? Oatmeal Raisin cookies? It would be a toss up–they were both pretty fabulous.
“I had a cake with cream inside, wrapped in metal.”
I know what you’re thinking, and you’re right. Oh yes, he did. Harvey’s older son bought a Ding Dong at the school bake sale. And he loved it. He loved it more than the Ding Dongs he has in the cupboard at home, apparently.
Even later still, Mikey climbed into my car, the sugar high making him both spastic and catatonic. I asked Mikey how the bake sale was, and what he bought. Raspberry Oatmeal bars? Apricot Oatmeal bars? It would be a toss up–they were both pretty fabulous.
“I had a white cupcake with a huge thing of frosting that went like this {pantomimes tornado} with a plastic tree on top.”
I know what you’re thinking, and you’re right. Oh yes, he did. My son bought a store-made cupcake at the school bake sale. And he loved it.
Harvey and I drove our children home, our separate cars propelled quickly across town by the force of our deflating egos.
{ 15 comments }
