The Mind of a Fifth Grader

Patti Smith Minglin wonders what could possibly be packed inside the mind of a fifth grader that makes it nearly impossible for him to remember his lunch each day.*

Every morning I send the kids off to school and apprehensively walk back into the kitchen knowing that someone has left something on the counter.  Homework that has to be turned in for a grade, a signed permission slip that allows entry onto the field trip bus, an instrument that is in desperate need of being played or lunch. The very same lunch that I so painstakingly put together (OK, so I buy the frozen "Uncrustable" sandwiches--I still have to gather the chips and fruit) and asked the boy at least 3 times if he had put it in his backpack.  Yet, here I stand looking at the lunch bag--half expecting it to move itself from the counter to the school office.

I know the mind of a fifth grade boy must be filled with lots of stuff.  While Nate can't seem to remember his lunch he is always quick to offer up important information ("Did you know the Sox are in fourth place?"), exciting updates on events ("I think someone got arrested today at school--or maybe it was just a police officer visiting a classroom"), facts about friends ("Jake got a black eye during his hockey game on Saturday") and the all important daily sports update ("If I just move my arm up a bit, I think I can hit the ball harder").  I'd like to think there is also some more pressing information floating around in that blond-haired topped head such as math facts, spelling tricks and what he should possibly get his Mom for Mother's Day.  

I grab the lunch bag, mutter something completely awful to the dog and head to school.  It's a routine I do several times each month and one I am hoping goes unnoticed by school staff.  

"Good morning, is that Nate's?"  The oh-so-friendly secretary smiles.  I have two children at this school and the very fact she knows exactly why I'm standing in this office at 9:30 AM is frightening.  I am already certain our family folder has been filled with notes about missing permission slips and forgotten morning band practices.  Will I also be known as the "Mom of the kid that forgets everything?"  

"Yes," I reply.  "He was in such a hurry to get to school and learn something new that he forgot his lunch."  OK, that's a real stretch, but I suddenly felt the need to give the kid a break.  He may forget his lunch, but who else can tell you something unique about every player on his baseball team, his teacher's favorite book or why the Bears should spend good money on a new quarterback?  He's the kid that frets over missing math class for fear he will miss something new and is always the first one to volunteer to help a new student get more acclimated with the school.  So he forgot his lunch--OK, so he forgets his lunch on a regular basis.  Will this stop him from getting into a good college?

"Sure," laughed the secretary.  "I'll make sure he gets it.  Anything else he needs for his day?"

"No, he's all set.  Thanks."  I walk out of the office with my head held high and rush back to the car mocking her last words.  "Does he need anything else? Right.  He just forgot his lunch, it's not like he left his backpack at home."  As if on cue, I hear a thud from the backseat and turn around to find...two of Nate's textbooks. Great.  Looks like another trip the office. 

*based on Facebook status from April 2009