The Gospel according to Saint Veruca

Last Saturday night was the silent auction fundraiser at the kids' school. It's their main fundraiser and is really a great cause. In the past two years, the school community has raised more than $20,000 --- money that has gone to build a new playground, get the building set with wireless and afford each teacher a laptop, and cover the cost of installing a new intercom and security system in the school.

Needless to say, we're not high rollers [see: college majors; see also: humanities and social sciences], but it is nice to be able to play some role (however small) in helping keep their school the truly wonderful place that it is. And it's nice to have a night out. [Full disclosure: It's also nice to have a beer in the multipurpose room of an Episcopal preschool and actually talk to the people you are usually running past during the morning drop-off.]

So these nights are themed, and this year's theme was 80s night.

Clearly the faculty had fun preparing for the event. Each class made a music video to an 80s tune --- Jane's class did "Safety Dance" and Sam's did "Wake Me Up Before You Go Go." Basically it was a minute and  a half of 3- and 5-year-olds, respectively, jumping up and down. The former group wore construction hats and caution tape while the latter were in their PJs. The videos were shown during the event, and it was fun to be able to see my kids completely in their element up there on the big screen.

Anyway, in keeping with the 80s theme, the teachers (more than a few of whom were born in the 80s) were coming in costume. Which meant, I learned only a few days before the event, that we were expected to do likewise.

Being good sports, Vicki and I obliged. Unfortunately, we have no pictures of ourselves because we forgot to bring the camera. [We don't get out on our own that often. We did have wipes and, inexplicably, a change of clothes. Plus a small bag of Pirate Booty.] Anyway, for her tribute to Molly Ringwald and Madonna, Vicki was voted "prom queen" of the evening and given a free copy of the video containing all the videos the classes had recorded. Alas, I did not win any awards for my outfit. Which was ok, but I have to admit I was surprised at how many people mistook my Nancy Reagan for Daniel Dee Snider. Truly the 80s are gone.

All of this, of course, leads me to the point of the story. The part of the evening that gets all the kids in the school excited is the raffle. Each class picks a theme for a basket and every member of the class signs up to bring something in. Jane's class was "fun in the sun," and we got to the sign-up sheet sort of late, so the only item left was sunblock. [Truth be told, I felt like that was a purchase I could make with some authority.]

Sam's class, despite having more girls than boys, put together an "Star Wars/superhero" basket. We contributed two little Star Wars lego sets and spent the next two weeks hearing about which toy Samson would play with first when we won the basket. His optimism was not without some grounding, as last year we won the "sports" basket that his class had put together. Which was fantastic: He woke the morning after the event to find a basket in the living room with lax sticks, roller skates, a basketball, a frisbee, and several other items for play outside.

Try as we could, however, we could not convince young Samson that it was best not to plan on winning again this year as the odds were pretty great against such a repeat. He was unmoved by our logic, and as we walked out the door that night he hugged me and whispered, "I love you. Don't forget to put all your tickets in the Star Wars basket."

And wouldn't you know it: When they called the name for the raffle, we won! So much for my knowledge of probability. We had spent $15 for raffle tickets, and I probably put 8 or 9 in for that basket and the rest in some of the others [we do have two children, you know]. But this was clearly the prize of the night as more than a few parents came up to tell me how jealous they were and how lucky Samson was.

Apparently, the father of one of Sam's classmates had not had the same "count on not winning" talk with his son, as he came over to congratulate me [I was standing holding a giant Rubbermaid tub of Lego, etc.]. We had not met, but I had seen him wandering around all evening, and he had bid on and won at least a third of all the items up for silent auction. I'm guessing the ironic humor inherent in an 80s night escaped him. I'm also guessing he was probably finished with college by the time the 80s happened and so was not quite sure what the big deal was. [Note: I base this last observation on the fact that he was wearing a tweed sportscoat, dress shirt but no tie, and dress pants. Perfect Saturday night out attire for a guy in his 50s. I digress.]

Anyway, he introduced himself, and I noted that our sons had been in class together the year before. We chatted for a minute or two, with him doing most of the talking, and it quickly became apparent that not only was this a guy with a lot of money [anybody who tells you not only what neighborhood they live in but what street they're on is looking to make sure you know he's a big deal], this was also a guy who was very used to getting his own way.

So he finally comes out with it: "I told my son he would get this. I can't go home now." At which point I smiled, and he said, "No, I'm not kidding. I don't know how you won it. I must have put like 90 tickets in that thing. I probably spent more than a hundred dollars on that stupid raffle. He told me not to come home without it."

And that's when it got weird. He began trying to trade all the other stuff he'd gotten for this basket. Vicki, who is much better at this stuff than I am [have I mentioned she's a counselor?], did well in the kind of verbal feinting/conversational redirects that one probably learns to employ when dealing with the insane. But this guy was dead serious. At one point, Vicki suggested we might just get the boys together for a playdate, to which he replied (and I'm still not sure if he was joking): "He'd probably come over and steal it."

Now mind you: The contents of the basket couldn't have amounted to more than $75 worth of toys. Fun stuff, for sure, and the next morning saw Samson not only thrilled but vindicated in his 5-year-old Panglossian worldview. However, it's not like any of the items were one of a kind. We're talking Star Wars Lego for chrissake.

So I went from being happy that Sam had won to being really happy that this guy had lost. Which, in the end, is what an 80s-themed fundraiser at a Christian preschool is all about, right?

Spellbound

Last night we were playing spelling bee with Sam and Jane. [OK, full disclosure: Vicki was playing spelling bee with them. I was near the bee but at the sink doing the dishes.]

The game is pretty straightforward: Vicki pulls a card with a picture on it from a deck. Each image has a word on the other side identifying what the picture is (car, cat, etc.). The kids take turns identifying what the picture is, and Samson gets to spell the word while Jane tries to use it in a sentence.

So far so good. We made it through "dog," "wig," and "mop" with no problem. Then we got to "fox," which Sam, for some reason, spelled F-U-X. And while I thought it was kind of funny, I managed to keep my inner Beavis in check and focus on loading the dishwasher.

Vicki told Sam he hadn't gotten it right and asked him to sound it out. On the second try, he spelled it correctly. To which Vicki cheerily added: "Very good. The short 'O' sound makes it FOX. If you used a 'U' that would be F______."

I'm not sure what that unit of time is called for the micro-fraction of a second that elapsed between Vicki's "teachable moment" and the realization that she'd just dropped the F-bomb --- albeit phonetically and unintentionally --- during the spelling bee.

I almost bit my tongue in half to keep from laughing. Vicki, the very vision of grace under pressure, channeled her royal (if not actual) namesake, smiled broadly, and continued on to the next word.

Which was "rug."