Family Daze

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'Friendship Salad' proves a considerable misnomer

By Debbie Farmer

I couldn't wait to be a part of my son's preschool education. I had looked forward to volunteering in his classroom since the beginning of the year. When it was finally my turn to help, I wondered what exciting, educational task the teacher would assign me.

"You can facilitate making the Friendship Fruit Salad," the teacher said when we arrived. "Just supervise the children when they cut the fruit into tiny pieces." She pointed to a table piled high with the various fruit the children had brought. "Then mix it together and serve it in paper cups for the snack at 11 o'clock."

The thought of being surrounded by a group of preschoolers with sharp objects made me nervous, but I smiled and nodded as the teacher explained that the children could wander among the different stations and choose their own activity at their own pace. When she was finished I divided the fruit into sections on cutting boards, rolled up my sleeves and waited for a group of preschoolers to wander my way.

Soon two girls sat down at my table and I guided them to the sink to wash their hands. I turned on the water and scrubbed. They had a great time splashing and making bubbles with the soap. It took me 15 minutes to rinse their hands, mop up the water on the floor which turned into a tiny lake, and coerce them back to the fruit.

"This is a strawberry," I said, as I demonstrated how to make tiny cuts. "It is a fruit and grows on bushes. Would you like to try?" I slid the cutting board over to them.

One of the girls considered it for a moment, then reached over and popped a strawberry into her mouth. The other girl wandered away from the table to pet the class rabbit.

I finished slicing the strawberries as a group of boys approached the table. Finally, I thought, a golden opportunity to make a difference, to break down domestic stereotypes and mold male thinking at a young age.

"Cool," the boys said as they sat down. "Real knives."

I led them to the sink and handed them a wet paper towel that they squeezed to make a pattern on the floor with the water. After I wiped it up, I led them back to the table and demonstrated how to chop bananas into tiny slices. This worked great until one of them figured out how to smash a piece on the top of his thumb and fling it at the boy across the table. As banana pieces went flying, I began to think of another name for Friendship Salad.

When I finished chopping the rest of the bananas, I realized I only had 20 minutes to have the snack prepared, and I still had a lot more fruit to slice. I cruised around the room and tried to lure volunteers to my table to help.

"Would you like to work together to help prepare our snack?" I asked a group of children gathered around the water fountain. No one moved.

"I'll let you have some grapes."

Silence.

"How about a peach?" My voice rose. "A cookie! A pair of roller skates! A new bike!"

Finally three little girls slowly moved toward me. I spit on a tissue and quickly wiped their hands. Then I gave each girl an apple, cut it in half, and showed them how to find a star in the middle. Then I demonstrated how to cut it into tiny pieces. As they were cutting, a few more children wandered over and I showed them the star and gave them an apple to cut.

I kept slicing until there was enough fruit to fill 25 cups. Then I quickly spooned it out and carried it outside to the children who were waiting on the grass.

"This is the result of your hard work and cooperation," I said.

Suddenly I was interrupted by a scream coming from one of the blankets.

"The banana is touching the apple!"

"I don't like grapes! Get them out!"

"My orange has a bug on it!"

"That's a raisin."

"Gross!"

It was apparent that this salad was obviously misnamed. As the children continued yelling I began to quickly gather up the cups. I hoped the next time I came to help at my son's preschool, the teacher would me an easier task--like explaining Einstein's theory of relativity.

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Send Debbie the strangest or silliest pregnancy/parenting advice you ever received. The top 10 will be published in an upcoming column. Send an email to: debbie@ecis.com. Or send a letter to Debbie c/o the Saratoga News, 14375 Saratoga Ave., Suite E2, Saratoga, CA 95070.

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