Cincoth of May

I know very little about Mexico. I have enough problems with American history, don’t start asking me about General Ignacio Zaragoza Seguín and his victory over the French (I knew I liked him) in the Battle of Puebla. Hell, I was just a kid back in 1862 … It is also very unfortunate that the only person I know from said country turned out to be a miscreant, a theif and a whore (yes, I can back that up). I have nothing against our neighbors to the south, would like very much to visit there, and although I will gladly drink their alcohol with them, I will pass on most of the food. Yet, today, we celebrate with them.

I get an email inviting me to Pearlsky’s classroom’s Cinco de Mayo lunchtime celebration. Now, mind you, I usually eat lunch at the same pizza shop everyday, the same one where I am weary of the retarded looking chef, and where I think I get food poisoning about four times a year (yes, don’t say it, I know what you are thinking about me …). But today, instead, I am invited to the classroom where Pearlsky and her classmates are making lunch! Tacos, guacamole, repeatedly fried beans, etc.

I get to the classroom and I see the teacher, Pearlsky’s aide, and … and … no Pearlsky. I look at the teacher and she says “Oh, she’s getting her meds by the nurse.”

So I go across the hall and walk into the nurse’s office. Down the hall I see two nurses and a male aide hovering over Pearlsky. They look up at me in unison.

She’s not that big, is there a problem?

Oh no, I just heard Mary having a bit of trouble giving the meds so I came to help. She’s being rather persnickety today.

That’s not the word we use at home.

I don’t know what the problem was, I asked for the oral syringe. Getting down on one knee, I pull down on the wheelchair handles so that Pearlsky is completely horizontal (the whole chair is tilted back, the back of her seat on my thigh) and I give her the 20cc in one swallow. The nurses and aide are stunned.

It reminds me of one day when she was in preschool or so. I got there to take her to a doctor’s appointment at lunch time and they were feeding her. The teacher was gingerly using the spoon, tickling Pearlsky’s lip with it, balancing it on her tongue, etc. It was taking a long time, we were late. I asked if I could finish feeding her.

You know what happened. In thirty seconds I had the whole thing down her. I looked at them and said …

You may do it right in school, I get it done. Gotta go, thanks.

Anyway, I digress.

The coffee was from a single estate Brazilian arabica dry processed bean and a combination of dark and medium roasts. It was wonderful. The casadias, tacos, guacamole, beans and lemon-limeade were, well, made by the students.

These things are really tough. I walk through the high school among all the students that should represent my kids. I go into the classroom where Pearlsky is, by far, the most “involved.” I smile while the kids show their parents what they did to help with the meal. Well, smile on the outside.

It was ok. Pearlsky was all smiles when I came in. We hung out. The coffee gave me a buzz (“Always carry a big mug,” is what my epitaph may say).

I went back to work. But I did stop on the way for a slice of pizza.

Enjoy the holiday.