Tuesday, October 5, 2010

Magic Shake-Ball

I just sent out a message to my daughter's Fifth grade section (in my capacity as Class Rep, a job I allegedly "share" with my husband--go ahead, laugh now and get it out of your system) announcing the upcoming class potluck. The theme? Immigration. I spent a good 30 minutes composing this message because I knew that somehow, somewhere, there is some parent I am going to offend with my wording about "culinary family traditions" and "recipes brought by your families to America." I can't even articulate the nature of the offense, but I'm sure it's there.

My point is, I should be preparing for my next class. And my husband doesn't even know that there is a potluck coming up. Should I continue to keep up the illusion that we're breaking down gender roles here, or should I just own this thing and take the credit (and the blame)?



No more, no more! Worse than the sun in March,
This praise doth nourish agues. Let them come!
They come like sacrifices in their trim,
And to the fire-eyed maid of smoky war
All hot and bleeding will we offer them.

(1 Henry IV 4.1. 112-116)


Okay, first off, I don't think this bodes well for the potluck. Unless people like eating hot bloody food that gives them fevers. But, God, if I tell people not to bring blood sausage then I'll be offending someone's Scottish/Irish/German heritage.

Second of all, I'm pretty sure that all this imagery about being a sacrifice and about ague-inducing "praise" is a clear sign that I never should have signed up for this in the first place. If I'm going to be sacrificed on the fiery altar of school service, then I'm bringing my husband down with me. He can organize the class trip. Let him deal with the politics of picking a chaperone.

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