A Perfectly Baked Brownie

It’s all our fault: the participation trophies, the “everyone’s a winner” mentality, the “no awards” movement. We, the latchkey kids of the 70s and 80s, are sorry. It’s out of control in a way we never envisioned. It’s just, we got all in our feelings. After all, it was a rough life. And, it all started with Valentine’s Day. Play the Gilligan’s Island dream sequence music, cause we’re going back in time.

Ah, the Valentine’s Day elementary school parties of the 70’s – such anticipation, such promise, especially for us girls. While 6 year old me depended on a mom to coordinate her outfit, the make or break weight of this day hung in the air as heavy as molasses. I felt it, too. My hair was plaited just so. My fancy homemade dress was ironed and waiting in my closet like a mini coronation symbol. I had worked on my paper Valentines for weeks. They were Scooby-Doo cards written to each classmate in penmanship that already perfectionist, only child me had polarized over excessively. Inside, I was mildly panicking over the thought of walking to the front of the class and placing each card in my classmate’s construction paper mailbox. Would we go one at a time with everyone watching? Would we all go at once, bumping into each other and potentially bending our perfect cards? Would we go in groups? Who would be in my group? I’ve never been a fan of surprises. Despite all of the horrors I had pre-imagined, nothing prepared me for the intense emotions of that afternoon when I realized that not every kid would get a Valentine’s card from each classmate. A few children in my class got only one or two cards. They were the kids deemed less than. Less than designations happened for all sorts of reasons back then: you lived in the wrong area, or you wore the wrong clothes, or you used lunch tickets. As the party ended and we were allowed to take our paper mailboxes back to our seats to look at our cards while we ate our cupcake and our PTA mom provided lemon half with the peppermint stick in the middle, the realization descended on me. I was sitting in between two girls who were wearing brand new belly shirt outfits from the Ragdoll Boutique, and who seemed to find my predicament of bad taffeta and a half full mailbox hilarious. I was then, and would remain, stuck in popularity purgatory.

See, back then, you didn’t have to bring a Valentine’s card for everyone in the class. If you didn’t like a kid, they just didn’t get a card. And, some kids didn’t bring any cards at all. If your family couldn’t afford a pre-Minyard, pre-Gibson box of Valentines from Smith’s Pharmacy, you just didn’t get to participate. No one tells you that this rite of passage will work to your advantage one day. They don’t say, “Worry not, child. You will now develop sharp edges and a gooey center (not unlike a perfectly baked brownie) that will develop your cool, bohemian personality so that one day you will be able to weather the storms of life.” Instead, the teachers and the PTA moms just shake their heads and say an internal prayer of thankfulness that their children’s mailboxes are full. Or, so it seemed at the time.

So, we became adults and then parents, still with that sting of Valentine’s Day lingering like a paper cut that won’t quite heal. And, we swore not to repeat the sins of school parties past. If our kids couldn’t be popular, nobody could. We sashayed into the elementary school parties of the early 90s with our acid washed mom jeans, our mock turtlenecks, and our “speak to the manager” bobs. We went overboard with the party favors. We showed up with buckets of extra cards, just in case a kid forgot. We paged each other 911 distress messages if we ran low on cupcakes. We didn’t stop there. Races? It’s all a tie. Field day? Errbody gets a ribbon. Bad grades? Let me at that teacher. Let us create a world where no child struggles and no one is less than and everyone is always, always heralded as the greatest, no matter what. But, as Gary Allan would serenade us, the struggles make you stronger. The changes make you wise. And, happiness has its own way of taking its sweet time.

Now, we’re all quinquagenarians and sexagenarians, sitting around and complaining about today’s youth and how they’re ruining the world with their arrogance and their laziness and their funky attitudes about what the world owes them (the middle aged version of get your ball out of my yard, kid). While this rant is meant as satirical, it does speak to the social dilemma we’re facing now. But, I tell you, on this Valentine’s Day, there is a common ground. We just have to stop the pendulum in the middle. There’s a way to work hard and struggle without treating others badly. There’s a path that will take you to the top that isn’t paved with the souls of the less fortunate. Being mediocre isn’t a bad thing at all. I should know. There’s a whole heap of things I love passionately but do not excel at doing. Let’s make a generation who can fall down and keep on getting back up. Let’s laugh at ourselves again. Let’s make cards for everyone. After all, life ain’t always beautiful, but it’s a beautiful ride, especially with a good brownie.