The Day the Peanut Butter Bar Died
An ode to one of my first true loves.
She is leaving for Good
It happened suddenly and without much fanfare, but today 55,000 students lost access to an American dream; The Lunch Lady Peanut Butter Bar. She went without a fight and gave in quickly to the few students (and most likely their parents) who have peanut allergies. Like many of the other great things in life, a few people cause the rest of us to suffer and go without out. The way of Peanut Bars is no different.
I understand Allergies
Before you get all huffy puffy and say that I lack emotion or empathy for those kiddos that have peanut allergies, check yourself. I live in an allergy landmine. Five of the nine people in my family are allergic to gluten/flour. No, not celiacs, or because we are on some fancy diet, but we are an Epipen carrying, Benadryl loaded, potatoe flour family. Which means no (the real not the gluten-free crappy replacement) cookies, donuts, pasta, pizza, brownies, fries, breaded anything, most sauces, a lot of sodas, cakes, toothpaste, hairspray, some facial wash, soy sauce, canned soups, dips and a lot of other things. So today, when the nutritional staff made our peanut butter bars for the last time, I got a little emotional.
Love at First Bite
As cliche’ as this may sound, I think it was love at first bite. I recall my first glance at a peanut bar in third grade. I assume it was a Tuesday because my entire school life connects Tuesday with peanut butter bars, not tacos.
I saw her sitting on the styrofoam plate alone, staring back at me. She was begging me to pick her up. What she didn’t see or notice was all of the other beautiful peanut butter bars sitting on their plates waiting to be picked up as well.
She was a middle piece, without edges, and like a 50’s pinup girl showing a little leg, she had pulled back her chocolate top layer revealing a little bit of peanut butter underneath. Not too much, but leaving the rest to my imagination. I was smitten at that moment.
I grabbed her and put her on my plate. We had a romantic lunch together. Her staring at me while I ate my vegetables and turkey dinner and me making sure not to drink to much milk, so I had some left to wash her down. I slowly took bites of her and noticed my crooked teeth marks in the chocolate, peanut butter, and oatmeal bar. She didn’t care about my crooked teeth, which is one reason I loved her. We had an off and on again relationship throughout elementary school.
Trying to Save Money
My parents were trying to save money and pay off some bills, so I started bringing home lunch. I know she felt worthless and unwanted as my dessert switched to Graham Crackers and frosting instead of her. Occasionally, I would find twenty-five cents in the couch or steal from my little sister’s piggy bank so that we could have lunch together, but it wasn’t the same. I think she knew I was cheating on her and could see it in her eyes. She wanted to be exclusive. I couldn’t do it. She was going to have to wait until I got a job.
Everything Changed
In seventh grade, everything changed. I mean everything (This was before my plate, healthy choices, and the American Diabetes epidemic). I got a job making 75 dollars every two weeks, and Orem Junior High had a dessert line. It was celestial in all possible ways.
An entire line of desserts, both school-made and manufactured, our choices included: Snickerdoodles, Chocolate Chip Cookies, Chocolate Crinkle Cookies, Pink Sugar Cookies, Rice Krispy treats, Hostess Donuts, Twinkies, Chocodiles, Ho-Ho’s, and Turtle Cream Pies.
You may ask how she could separate herself from all of the fantastic desserts? I only had eyes for her; she didn’t have to stand out. She got a little more expensive (35 cents), but I would have paid fifty if they asked me to. I didn’t have to wait for Tuesdays anymore. Every day was ours, ours until Jesse came along.
Jesse was a bully. He would stalk the lunchroom and look for unsuspecting kids who went to the bathroom, or forgot a fork and then ravage their lunch for the “good stuff.” Sometimes Jesse would get desperate enough; he would take things right off our plates.
Everyone started eating lunch Lord of the Flies style; one hand wrapped around the lunch tray and the food it contained, and the other hand shoving food in our mouths as fast as possible. Well, at least when Jesse came around. The days Jesse was absent were terrific, because everyone turned back into civilized teenagers who ate lunch and talked with there friends. But when Jesse was there, students started switching tables and breaking friend groups to get a few days in a “safe” spot where Jess couldn’t find them.
Regret and Betrayal
I regret those moments with her; I didn’t give her the time and attention she deserved. At times, I would down the entire peanut butter bar in two bites before I ate the rest of my lunch, and more importantly, before Jesse could find me.
You see, Jesse recognized pretty quickly that I was buying something from the dessert bar every day. I paid cash so my parents couldn’t see the transaction history, but It was hard to walk out of the dessert bar with multiple desserts and not have anyone notice. Even my friends started to notice. They didn’t steal her, but they got jealous of her and would bug me to buy them something, or even worse, want me to split my peanut bar with them. These were sad times. We needed a hero.
The Iron Stomach
And usually, when people need a hero, one does not appear. But, at Orem Junior high during the “Lord of the Flies” lunch chaos, a hero appeared from the most unlikely of places in the form of a kid name Korby.
Korby was the kid at lunch who would eat anything. I mean anything. Korby would take six or seven hot sauces and boor out his burrito and dump all of the hot sauce in the burrito and just down it. He would eat concoctions of apple sauce, cottage cheese, jello, and milk. He became the Iron Stomach.
The Iron Stomach had had enough of Jesse stealing his lunch and not only his lunch, all of the other kid’s lunches. Like Squints Palledorous from Sandlot, he couldn’t take it anymore. I still remember the day The Iron Stomach stood up to Jesse. It will live in infamy because it was the day I got her back for good. Her being my peanut butter bars.
Jesse Taps Out
Jesse came lurking around our table for food and took one of Korby’s fries. Korby stood up and exploded on Jesse. Korby’s voice was shaky, and you could see that he was about to go atomic. His words stuttered, and spit was coming out of the corners of his mouth. I don’t remember the exact words, but Korby didn’t just speak for himself that day, he spoke for all of us, and we all stood a little higher. Jesse didn’t come back to our table for the rest of the year.
Out of appreciation, and as a medal of honor, I bought Korby a dessert of his choice.
I slowly grew out of peanut butter bars during my high school and college days, moving towards more experienced older desserts; Granny B’s cookies, Otis Spunkmeyer cookies, and Hostess Crumb Donuts. However, like old flames, you can never really let them go.
Her and Education
When I became a teacher at a middle school, all of our memories came flooding back in a moment; those first glances in elementary school, my crooked teeth marks in her peanut butter and chocolate, my thoughtfullness of saving some extra milk for her. I couldn’t get away from her. For the last nine years, both as a teacher and administrator, I’ve spent almost every Tuesday with her at lunch. Sometimes I don’t get lunch because of the school chaos, and I know she understands. Sometimes, Holly, the lunch manager, will save me one or the hall monitors will set her on my desk. They know how much I love her. They know how much I love peanut butter bars. They can see it in my eyes and they help me enjoy those small life moments.
This morning, knowing that today was the last day with her before peanut allergies took her from me, the nutrition workers went the extra mile. They made me a plate-size peanut butter bar all for myself.
Our Last Moments
I decided to make our last date special. I used a fork and knife and will make her last a couple of days before I take the last bite and say goodbye to one of my first true loves. It’s not just the peanut butter bar that says goodbye today; it’s all of the memories and moments she brings and carries with her.
Thank you to everyone who made today so special.
Spencer