Strike 3: The Recycling Debacle

Our fourth grade spring project was to collect bottles and cans to be recycled. We learned all about the benefits of recycling, we colored pictures about recycling, we wrote an essay about recycling, the whole nine yards. To add to the excitement, there was a competition involved. The class that collected the most recyclables would be able to spend a portion of their recycling proceeds on a special lunch.


There was absolutely NO WAY we were going to let the other class win. The other class had a cool male teacher that looked like Tom Selleck and actually liked his job. There was actual joy going on in their classroom on a regular basis. What the hell did they need with a special lunch? By this time in the school year, my class had bonded like a bunch of miniature POWs. We had made it through this far, and this potential special lunch was the only thing we had to look forward to.



To say that Mrs. Miller's class rallied would be an understatement. We climbed under parked cars. We picked through people's trash. We did whatever it took to get that can. We mended our broken spirits with heart and determination. We dominated the competition. Mrs. Miller sent a moderately enthusiastic note home to our parents informing them that our hard earned recycling money would be spent on a McDonalds hamburger lunch. This is where the story takes an ironic turn.



When my mom read the note, she was a bit surprised at the McDonalds decision. If you recall, late 80s McDonalds hamburgers sported this non-recyclable styrofoam packaging. To Sandy, this contradiction was borderline hypocricy. What kind of lesson would we really learn about recycling if we chose to then turn around and contribute to a landfill? I saw her point. I did. After a series of notes home on the subject, it was clear that Mrs. Miller did not. At our special lunch, styrofoam was served.



So, that would be about the gist of strike 3. The class made it through the remainder of the year only thanks to inspirational tunes such as Michael Jackson and Lionel Ritchie's "We are the World" and Better Midler's "Wind Beneath my Wings". Our 5th and 6th grade teachers were wonderful women who taught us about Impressionist Art and let us make topographical maps out of salt and flour dough. And all was right once again.