At the end of this past school year, my girls asked me to visit them for lunch. I love eating at the cafeteria with them. It makes them feel special, and I get a not-so-subtle opportunity to grill their known associates.
In the months leading up to this particular lunch, we were hearing more and more about a boy named Jason.
"Jason thinks I look like the blonde girl on Girl Meets World."
"Jason likes the Vikings."
"Jason and Vianne and I played this game on the swings today."
"Jason got his hair cut really short. He looks very fast."
After the likes of Emilio, I was ready to set my sights on this Jason fellow. I arrived a few minutes early and sat down at the lunch table with a big bag of Subway and waited for the looks of envy from the stream of 2nd graders that were about to flow through the doors.
In bounced my happy little lady. Her hair that started out smooth and pulled back into a ponytail now looked like she'd been in a cage fight with her sister; it was full evidence that she'd just finished a successful recess. She plopped down at the bench while the rest of her classmates got in line for a hot lunch. It was the end of the year so Mommas across the country had raised the white flag with regards to sending in organic, non-processed lunch.
Apparently the hot topic this day was a new joke.
"Mom. George Washington called."
"He did?"
"He wants to know if your refrigerator is running."
"He did?"
"Yeah. Is it?"
"I suppose it is, yes."
"Well, you better go catch it. Bbbwwwwahahahahah."
One by one, students started filling up the table. Each time, sweet Maggie would say to the them "Hey, George Washington called." And each time her joke would be returned with blank stares or a blatant change of subject. This didn't stop her. 18 students passed her by, each one giving her renewed joy at retelling her ill received joke. She gets that from me.
There was an open spot on the other side of my Fozzie Bear leaving her with one last opportunity to grace someone with her stand-up routine. The final victim, err, I mean classmate, fell clumsily into the last space.
"Hey. George Washington called!"
"Ring Ring. George Washington here!!"
"Is your refrigerator running?"
Simultaneously, they started gut laughing. Suddenly, I was on the outside looking in. I asked the girl across from me what that boy's name was.
"Jason" she replied.
Chicken nuggets and sandwich bits were flying out of their mouths as they roared. It was the most disgusting display of pure joy I have ever witnessed. Two 7 year old idiots, gasping for breath in between glugs of chocolate milk because of a joke that was worn out and lame.
But I will admit, my heart swelled because their joy was contagious and there is just nothing like seeing your child with Their Person. Your person is someone who gets you. If you're as lucky as me, you collect a bunch of Persons along the way and all of a sudden you have My People. And if you are really lucky, you'll have My People In Florida and My People in Minnesota and My People in Kansas.
So my prayer for Maggie, on her very first day of 3rd grade, is that she finds Her Person right away. That she doesn't have to go very long before plopping down to lunch, all sweaty and disheveled, with someone she shoots milk out her nose with because "Knock Knock, George Washington called."
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