By Allan R. Andrews
American Reporter Correspondent
WASHINGTON - Around my house I'm getting
a reputation for being the sandwich man. I don't eat 'em, I make
'em. To be brutally honest, I don't make a variety of sandwiches;
I specialize. In the shorthand of modern households, I am the
PBJ maestro.
My youngest son, adjusting as he is to the rigors of first grade,
has determined he will eat nothing for lunch but peanut butter
and jelly sandwiches. So every morning I make two PBJ sandwiches
for him, one for lunch and one for after-school care.
On some days, my daughter and another son decide they would prefer
PBJ to the offerings at school. On those days, I double my output
and make four PBJs.
To complicate matters, my 4th-grade boy is one of a minority of
children who prefers marmalade to jelly or jam, so when I make
four sandwiches, at least one must be PBM.
I must digress for a moment to share an odd tale.
I spent a few years as an academic journalist, ostensibly teaching
young adults how to write. Among my assigned duties was the dreaded
collegiate required course, composition.
No matter where one attends school, introductory
composition courses, seemingly like peanut butter and jelly sandwiches,
are much the same, and among the assigned essays of the course
is one that demands students write a brief essay describing a
process.
In my experience in the composition classroom, the process most
frequently described by undergraduates in their assigned essays
-- and I'm talking here of an overwhelming plurality -- was some
variation on the theme, "How to make a peanut butter and
jelly sandwich."
Thus, even without seeking such instruction, I have probably read
more essays on the proper approach and tactics needed for preparing
PBJ sandwiches than any living short-order cook.
This foodstuff we associate with the early years of education
apparently plays a huge role in the survival of America's college
and university students.
And, as everyone knows from experience, peanut butter and jelly
sandwiches are a mainstay of the elementary school lunch line.
A friend who teaches at the same school
her children attend tells the humorous story of her kindergarten
daughter who passed through the school lunch line every day, reached
up and took a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and proceeded to
her lunch table.
After several weeks of this pattern, she confessed to her mother
that she didn't particularly like peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.
"Why don't you take something else for a change?" the
mother inquired.
"That's all they ever have," the child responded.
The mother, puzzled by this response, decided to investigate.
Watching her daughter pass through the lunch line the next day
she realized that peanut butter and jelly sandwiches were set
out on the front of the lunch counter with all other entrees behind
them. Her daughter, passing the counter, was so tiny that she
had to look up to see the lunches, and the only thing within her
field of vision was the peanut butter and jelly sandwiches; hence,
from her limited view, that's all they offered.
Well, to the chagrin of my youngest son and probably to the delight
of my friend's daughter, peanut butter is under the gun and may
be banned from school lunchrooms as a potentially harmful substance.
Several years ago, a school in Ontario,
Canada, imposed an outright ban on any form of food containing
peanut butter. In North Andover, Mass., two elementary schools
made the news in 1996 by asking parents to follow a voluntary
ban on any foods containing the potentially dangerous peanut butter.
This year, a private school in Massachusetts banned peanut butter.
This is a serious problem. Some of those who suffer an allergic
reaction to peanuts are not simply troubled by symptoms of itching,
watery eyes, sneezing or stuffed noses. The worst sufferers can
go into a life-threatening anaphylactic shock, a choking reaction
that may be accompanied by vomiting and could result in cardiac
arrest.
Those suffering such a severe reaction must be treated immediately
with antihistamine or with an injection of adrenaline.
Schools are now facing a political and social dilemma. They face
a problem that affects only a miniscule percentage of children,
but the possible outcome is a fatality. Should the majority suffer
to keep one child from death?
Studies show that about one in every 200 children suffer an allergic
reaction to peanuts. One researcher notes that only about one
to two percent of all food allergies -- not just the peanut reaction
-- result in life-threatening reactions.
Despite its rarity, schools cannot afford
even one death from a peanut butter allergic reaction. As surely
as we ban firearms from schools to prevent accidental death to
even one child, so we must accept the possibility of banning a
foodstuff that could potentially end a child's life.
True democracy at times calls for sacrifice on the part of the
majority to the benefit of a minority. Recall that some prefer
marmalade.
My first-grade son will have to learn this lesson if his school
determines a ban on peanut butter is necessary.
It should make my sandwich-making job easier.
Besides, I have a personal precedent in this area: As an instructor
in composition class, I eventually banned students from writing
process essays on the topic "How to make a peanut butter
and jelly sandwich."
Allan R. Andrews can be contacted at allan.andrews@reporters.net