If Darth Vader Had Ever Designed A Salad...

It's funny the things we remember from the mean streets of Kindergarten. It really was the first time in my life that real and tangible enemies came into the picture and presented themselves in various forms. The first was a boy named Jerry Don. He was blond and was, in my 5-year-old condemnation, a "meanie" of a high degree. I was always a sensitive child ["Hello, Narcissism, how are you this fine evening?" "Oh, flourishing, flourishing--and how do you think I am?"], and it seemed to be Jerry Don's especial mission in life to get me to cry. This wasn't an especially difficult task, but he seemed to get something out of it anyway.

I remember one particular day when his method was to block the aisle so that I couldn't get to my desk to sit down, and if I moved to the next aisle over to get around him, he just hopped over as well, thereby blocking every route to my desk and staring me down. The conflict ended with me crying from the utter helplessness and frustration I felt. I probably could have punched him, but my mother discouraged this kind of behavior among my sisters and me, and anyway, I was a sensitive child--empathetic and unwilling to solve my problems via violence, even though I probably would have found that to be much more satisfying in the short-term. I chose tears, instead. I don't remember exactly what happened after the release of tears. I think the teacher came back into the room at that moment and he had to let me pass. But my first real enemy had made an appearance.

The second was of a different kingdom altogether: school lunch salad. It was this anemically pale pile of iceberg lettuce (iceberg always sounds so exciting--I mean, it is named after this beautiful, dangerous, and exhilarating frozen wonder--but it always fails to deliver on the splendor of its nomenclature) which was accompanied by a mealy tomato wedge and perhaps a few slivers of uninspired carrot. All this was topped with a dressing that was always blobular, somewhat wiggly, and usually an alarming shade of orangey-peach. Needless to say, I have since always had a healthy suspicion of orangey-peach colored blobs served on salads.

The thing I remember most is not the physical makeup of the salad, but the importance of them. They were not just a nutritionless pile of plant cells, topped with a cry for help; they represented the Jerry Don who stood firmly between me and putting my sticker on the big white poster board of lunch accomplishment. It hung on the wall for all to see, and each child had a long row of small squares to be filled in every day with a shiny metallic star if they finished their lunch. So many children had so many stars! Some had these long, proud rows of stickers, which reflected enticingly in shades of magenta, blue, green, and silver. And then there was mine. One star. Obviously, all those children with so many stars were born with taste buds that functioned only at partial capacity, and were also gifted with an ability to eat orangey-peach colored blobules on command. They were rewarded accordingly with the opportunity to post their star on the day's square. Every day we formed in our single file line before leaving the cafeteria, and every day the stark emptiness of my row stared at me in cold, matte judgment. I was different. I could not eat orangey-peach blobules without gagging, even though I desperately wanted to shovel down that all-important portion of my daily nutrition so that I, too, could be proud of my achievements in salad-eating.

On the other hand, maybe it is ok to be stubborn about some things. To this day, I defy blobule dressings. I embrace Newman's Raspberry Walnut Vinaigrette because it resembles a liquid and is generally awesome. Jerry Don turned out to be a nice guy in high school, so I also embrace letting go of grudges occasionally. I defy the societal rewards for being mindless robots working for appreciation in the form of sparkling stars on poster boards. I embrace Romaine and many of its leafy brethren. I shall spurn iceberg as long as we both shall live. Unto death! [Brandishes light saber and charges off into the night].