Just when you think you know all there is to know about your spouse, out pops some surprising, random bit of personal trivia.
Recently, my husband casually confessed that as a child, he occasionally ate paste at school. I forget how it came up–conversations with me frequently devolve into the bizarre – but I was shocked to learn that Joe had once been a bona fide member of what I considered the lowest caste in elementary school: the paste eaters.
Before the invention of the modern glue stick, the adhesive of choice in most elementary classrooms was a white paste that came in little plastic jars and had a distinctive smell that some kids apparently found mysteriously appetizing.
That smell and the aroma of mimeographed worksheets, cafeteria food, and sweaty children, are my strongest olfactory memories of life at Meadows Elementary School in Terre Haute, Ind.
I remember teachers frequently admonishing us not to eat paste, but no one needed to tell me that. Eating school supplies was never a temptation for me, but I guess some kids just couldn’t resist. (“Experts” today would probably argue that these children were genetically predisposed to paste-eating, label it a “syndrome” and receive large government grants to establish treatment programs.)
The thought of eating paste grossed me out, so kids who were caught dipping into their plastic jars for a little taste became the bottom-feeders of my quirky social order.
I remember Timmy, a kid in my second-grade class who ate paste AND crayons. His smile looked like a rainbow, his teeth always covered with the waxy remnants of his Crayola snacks.
Joe says he lurked on the outermost fringes of the shady world of paste-tasting, dabbling in it only very briefly during his early elementary years. He swears he hasn’t touched the stuff in decades – like maybe five decades – but I was nevertheless a bit taken back by his confession.
Silly as it was, the whole conversation unearthed some dormant, ridiculous prejudices in my heart and made me realize how long such stereotypes can stick with us if left unchallenged. When I reacted to Joe’s funny confession with a very strong, “You DID NOT!!!,” I realized the repulsion was still there, the crazy prejudice lingered.
I actually do remembering putting kids who ate paste in a certain category. I did the same thing with kids who lived in trailer parks (places of great mystery to me), or smelled bad, or wore strange clothes, or who were really wimpy in P.E. class. I was a snob, as I’ve come to realize most of us are in our own personal, peculiar ways.
I stopped stereotyping trailer park residents when I lived in a mobile home for seven years. When I had kids of my own, I realized that all of them smell bad sometimes. Clothes certainly do not “make the man,” the woman, or the child, and folks who are not athletically gifted have other wonderful talents.
We grow up and feel so enlightened and tolerant, but prejudices can run deep and silent.
It’s humbling and healthy for God to shine His light on any wrong notions that keep us from seeing and loving people the way He loves them. The ground truly is level at the foot of the cross and we all equally, desperately need a Savior.
“For by the grace given me I say to every one of you: Do not think of yourself more highly than you ought…” (Romans 12:3a)