The Magic Lunch Room

Once upon a time I thought CPT Kindergarten was so big and grown up.  I was confounded as to why he would not fulfill all the responsibilities I wished to place upon him.

Then one day I went to his magical lunchroom at school.  I saw his legs dangling from the lunch table bench.  His classmates asked me to peel their oranges, open their string cheese, and free their sporks from plastic wrap bondage.  And the magical dust started to scatter around me.  The little boys and girls told me their names and their brothers' and sisters' names, their tails wagging under the adult attention I patted them with.  And the magical dust started to swirl in my eyes and sink into my ears.  They told me how many teeth they'd lost.  They told me they really liked orange jello with whip cream.  They told me they didn't like oranges or bananas but they really liked strawberries.  They wanted to know if I liked raspberries.  I could feel my insides twirling in the work of the magic.  They said all of this through the slurs and tied tongues of kindergarten mouths.  When the magic settled, it sat me new on the bench next to CPT Kindergarten.  He looked at me so meekly proud.  He hugged my arm so happy to have me there.

Once upon a time I thought CPT Kindergarten was so big and grown up.  Then I went to his school lunch room and he shrunk into a vulnerable, innocent little boy - a magical lunch room indeed. 

And we lived happily ever after.

The End.