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Soup For One

Gary Zenker

    “Do you have something you want to tell me?” I ask my ten year old son Seth. He’s at an age where he past wanting to tell me about his school day but not past the age where a teacher will send me a note to tell me about a behavioral issue at school.
    “About what?”
    “I don’t know maybe about music class since it seems I have an email from your teacher that I haven’t opened yet.”
    “Oh that,” he says dismissively. “She is old and cranky.”
    “Then you DO have something to tell me?”
    “They are making us dance in music class” he informs with clear disgust in his voice. “So there’s a song that we dance to that says we get no soup. It’s part of the words. So I pretended to be eating soup.”
    I look at my sister without breaking a smile but she can see the glint in my eyes and knows what comes next.
    “I see,” I nodded. “So before I read her email, was there anything else?”I asked.
    “No. We were just twirling around. It’s a dance for the spring fair. I pretended to eat soup so she made me sit down. I don’t care.”
    This is the same teacher that last time she sent me a note, made Seth sit down away from the other kids because he pretended to play a tuba. A tuba. Not a flute. Not the drums. Not a guitar. He was playing air tuba.
    I would have thought she would have rewarded him for his imagination or at least kept him for the air instrument band. After all, how many air tuba players can there be at that school?
    “So let me ask you some questions. What kind of soup was it?”
    “I don’t know.”
    “You don’t know what kind of soup you were pretending to eat? Really? Well was it a cup or a bowl?”
    “I don’t know.”
    “Hmm. You don’t know? “
    “I don’t know.”
    “Well, was it hot or cold soup? Some soups you eat cold.”
    “I don’t know it was pretend soup.”
    “Hmmmm. Show me what you did.”
    He shows me and pretends to eat some soup in the air.”
    “So you were using a spoon!”
    “Yes I guess so.”
    “But you don’t know what kind of soup it was and whether it was a cup or a bowl? “
    “It doesn’t matter, he raises his voice. “I got in trouble.”
    “Well, are you sure you didn’t do anything else?” I pulled up her email on the phone and read it. “She says that you were twirling around and bumping into people.”
    “We are supposed to twist when we dance. I wasn’t banging into people.”
    “Hmmmm. Did you spill soup on anyone?”
    “It wasn’t real soup.”
    “I just thought maybe someone got stains on their clothing or got burned on the soup. Maybe someone slipped in it on the floor? “
    “It was pretend soup! I hate you. I got in trouble and you are making fun of me.”
    “I am not making fun of you. I am just asking questions so I know the situation.”
    “Don’t talk to me any more.”
    “Ok, it’s time for bed anyway. Go get changed.” I stood and looked at my sister while he clomped away.
    “You know” she said, “you won’t be able to make him take it seriously if you do that.”
    “How seriously can you take it if you get in trouble from a music teacher for pretending to eat soup? He is ten. She is lucky that’s all he does in class.”
    “You may just want to remind him that she is the teacher and he needs to take her direction.”
    “Okay, mom.”
    “I’m just saying.”
    “Ok.” I walk upstairs. It’s hard to make a federal case out of this. Was this really worth an email? My son forgets to hand in four homeworks a week and I don’t get an email, but I get one for this. He’s in the bed and I sit on the edge of it.
    “You know you need to apologize to your teacher tomorrow. She’s trying to manage 20 kids and you are causing a disruption.”
    “Do I have to? “
    “Yes. “
    “Ok I will. “
    “Good boy.” I move to him and kiss him on the forehead. “And you know that you cannot tell her you are sorry because you know there is no eating in class?”
    “Yes I know,” he replies in that way ten year kids have.
    “Ok, goodnight,” I tell him and walk away. But I stop just outside the doorway. “Crackers?”
    “What?” Seth asks me.
    “Crackers? Was it just soup or did you have crackers, too?”
    He rolls over to face the other way without us saying another word.

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