My mom stopped by school the other day to pick up some goodies that I had for her. It's the most convenient way, her meeting us on the school parking lot in the morning. It was a little outing for her, plus she could look forward to a day of reading tabloids and feasting on chicken-and-noodles.
Mom usually brings snacks for The Pony to store in the bottom drawer of my file cabinet for after school. On this particular morning, she leaned in the window of my Tahoe before I could get out.
"I always bring treats for The Pony. But I never bring anything for you. I want you to have these." She thrust three individual snack bags of Lance peanuts into my hand.
"What are you trying to do, KILL MY STUDENTS?"
Mom has been retired for eighteen years. Things have changed in academia since she last presided over fourth grade. I imagine that back then, they still sang Christmas carols at the Christmas programs, celebrated Halloween, and enjoyed homemade refreshments at their holiday parties.
Mom did not premeditate her attempted murder. In her mind, she was providing after-school energy for her hard-working daughter. In the form of peanuts. Delicious, salty, crunchy, nutritious, Lance peanuts. One hundred forty calories of proteiny goodness. DEADLY Lance peanuts.
I thanked her. I told her I would leave them in the car to enjoy on the way home. Yesterday, I ate half a pack. And today, I finished it off. I know better than to eat them in the morning on the way to school. Because if somebody drops dead of anaphylaxis, I refuse to be left holding the bag.