What Was I Thinking?

I'll give you the good news first. I'm now the proud sponsor of the junior class. Well, that doesn't sound so bad, now, does it? How did I get this honor. Well, it was a volunteer thing. Right. I volunteered. Sounds crazy, I know, but you weren't there, sitting around that table, realizing that it's been five years since you sponsored one of the upper classes and it was now your turn, because everyone else could not do it because they were swamped with more responsibilities than you were.

Now the bad news: sponsorship is scary. For two years I will help this class raise money for their senior trip. I will buy groceries for and run concession stands at hours and hours of volleyball and basketball games, (which means I have to attend them, but won't get to watch them.) I will organize suppers and food booths and dunk tanks and I will plan for junior/senior fun day and for graduation. At the end of this time I will be rewarded by getting to go on a week long trip with a dozen seniors and some of their parents. This entire experience will bring me closer to these students and mean a good deal to them. That's all wonderful.

None-the-less, it is a daunting quest for me. I can't cook. I don't know how to order food. Even making the punch for a large event has baffled me. (At my daughter's wedding we ran out of punch and ended up with straight kool-aide...plus, I forgot to serve the gallons and gallons of ice-cream we had stored in the freezer. Surely I could have blended that with the kool-aide or something.) I have three concession stand volleyball games next week. Three! Whatever will I do? I think I'll move a little bed out to my classroom--oh wait, I'm driving a school van route this year and can't stay over. Hmmm. Life just might get exciting. I'm warning you. We will probably sell food previously unheard of in high school sports history. For the trip I'll probably recommend going to a nearby camp in the Ozarks or something. (Truth be told, I hate flying; boating makes me sick; bus trips nauseate me, and a real vacation for me would be for everyone else to leave me home alone and tell the world that I'm with them. Just don't tell the juniors. I'll fake it for two years.)

Two years from now, when I'm back from senior trip, I'll collapse. Until then I'll put one foot in front of another and pray for patience.