Accused

Apparently no one had taught them table manners. They had gone way past the “no elbows on the table” rule to obnoxious laughter while sucking up Jell-O between clenched teeth. With their faces in their trays and slurping as hard as they could they tried to make the jiggling mass disappear. In the midst of that, John Tomato opened his mouth to display unchewed food to the entire table. Everyone referred to him as the “tomato” because it rhymed with his last name. He was as round as he was tall with thick black framed glasses. When he became angry or upset, his entire neck to the roots of his hair would turn bright red. No matter how many times he had been reprimanded for his bad behavior, he continued to put himself at risk for more punishment. As all good juvenile delinquents do, he had surrounded himself with a gang of five boys who did the same mischief as he did, but he always was the one to get caught and sentenced.

I found myself sitting at John’s table. The elementary school lunch room was not a place for the faint hearted. It took a strong stomach and a thick skin to endure the antics of the tomato and his buddies. Added to the challenge was the lunch room monitor Mrs. Nelson. She roamed up and down the aisles, glancing this way and that without moving her head. Just her eyes would move, but when they locked down on a kid, we all knew trouble was coming. A person more or less felt her presence before realizing she was standing nearby, and her unpredictable mood swings sent the fear level up to code red. She had started the school year out seeming so pleasant, but after a few months we all expected her wrath. She had set up a microphone on a cart from where she was to inform us of upcoming lunch menus and to announce monthly birthdays. Instead, she would grab the microphone and yell “Shut up!” at the top of her lungs when she felt the noise level had risen too high. At times, she would call out people’s names and send them to the wall.

The wall was a large orange divider that was set up at lunchtime to segregate the gym from where we were supposed to eat. It was used as a punishment to signify that if we got out of line, we would be publicly embarrassed by having to press our nose to it for however long she determined. When someone was sent to the wall, the entire congregation of kids would get quiet and begin to whisper for fear one of us would be next. The erratic sentencing to the wall always hung over our heads every lunch period.

John Tomato was a regular at the wall. However, it did not slow him down on the pranks and bad behavior. Now, as I sat at his table, I wondered why he would chance being sent there again. He was always on her radar screen, so for him to be acting like he was, he was just asking for it.

“Hey, Tomato,” one of his minions said. He took a pea from his tray and flicked it across the table. John swallowed his exposed food and laughed so hard his eyes squeezed shut. It was interesting to see him engaging in this behavior just twenty-four hours after he had been up at the wall crying hysterically. The day before, he had been escorted personally by Mrs. Nelson to his usual spot. He screamed that he had not done anything wrong. With his back to all of us, he began to wail and bang both fists on the divider yelling, “I want my mom! I did nothing wrong! I want my mom!”

He sobbed and screamed as Mrs. Nelson stood there watching with a slight smile on her face. I had felt sorry for him as I could hear other kids laughing quietly. I guess he had already forgotten the agony of being sent up as he now goofed off in a manner that would win him another ticket there.

I sat quietly with my lunch bag in front of me waiting for dismissal. I had finished, but the other kids at the table all had hot lunches and were hurrying with last bites before we had to get back to class. A dark shadow came from behind me. I could smell the familiar nicotine breath and overly done perfume. It was her. John instantly straightened up and the entire table was a dead zone. No one dared move, flinch or breathe.

“Whose is this?” I saw Mrs. Nelson bend down and bring up half of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. She marched to the head of the table and addressed us.

“Who does this belong to?” she barked. We all shook our heads “no” or shrugged our shoulders.

I saw John look at my empty lunch bag just before he pointed his pudgy finger at me and said, “It’s hers!” All of his friends did the same. They all said it was mine.

“Is this yours?” she bellowed.

“No. I ate all of mine,” I said.

“It’s hers! I saw her throw it under the table,” John replied. Again, his friends confirmed his lie. The boy who I had felt so sorry for the day before now was turning me in for something I didn’t do. She narrowed her eyes at me. I had seen that look just before someone was dragged up to the wall.

She came back to where I was sitting, put the sandwich directly under my nose and said, “Eat it!” I looked up at her to see if she was joking.

“It’s not mine,” I repeated.

“Eat it or you will go to the principal’s office.”

It was a choice between disobeying authority or eating something off of the floor. I took the sandwich and bit into a mouthful of dirt. I am sure when someone’s mother packed the sandwich with love it was good, but many shoes had stepped on it. How many days had it been under the table being trampled? I felt the crunch of grit between my teeth with each bite. I ate trying not to taste or think about the fact that I had nothing to drink. All eyes were watching. My bites got bigger just to get it over with.

“Never do that again,” she hissed in my ear with her dragon breath. Satisfied, she walked away while humiliation clutched its ugly arms around me as John Tomato smiled.

That evening when my mom asked me how school had gone that day, I told her of the incident. The second my dad walked through the door, she related it to him. I was ushered downstairs as dad made the call to the principal. I assumed there was language being used that a fourth grade girl didn’t need to hear. Later, I was told by my parents that the situation had been taken care of and if Mrs. Nelson ever treated a child like that again she would be fired. I was given strict orders to never eat food from the floor at anytime, or anywhere.

The next day at lunch I sat as far from John Tomato’s table as possible. Just beginning my meal, I saw Mrs. Nelson slithering over to my table. In the sweetest smoker’s voice she could muster she said, “Chris, I did not mean for you to eat that sandwich yesterday.” She placed her hand on my right shoulder as if she were my best friend.

I looked up and said, “My dad talked to the principal. You made me eat that sandwich. You will be fired if you ever do that again.” I was not the same kid she had dealt with the day before. Her smile became a look of fear, she stepped back, blinked and walked away. Never again did she bother me, and never again did I live in fear of her.

With the backing of my dad’s call to the principal, what was there to fear? Having him rally to my defense had given me a whole new perspective about the lunch room. As Christians, we can go through tests and trials as long as we have the assurance of our Heavenly Father standing with us. Jesus, for example, was able to endure the accusations against him that were false all the way to being beaten and sent to die on the cross. He is our role model of a man who stayed silent even in the circumstances of unfair treatment and fulfilled the plan of God. In Acts 8:32-33 it is written,

He was led like the sheep to the slaughter.
As a lamb is silent before the shearers,
he did not open his mouth.
He was humiliated and received no justice. (NLT)

Strength such as this only comes from the empowerment of the Holy Spirit. We can be accused, humiliated and judged, but if the supernatural anchor of peace guards our hearts and minds, then we can withstand anything that is unjust. Before Jesus had the victory at the cross, He had to pass through the place of unfair treatment by man. Consider today your struggles and the outcome of success that can be if you ask for the help of your Heavenly Father. He is able to assist you beyond the point of fear and intimidation to a place of triumph. Do not become so focused on the false accusation, but lean on the One who can be your advocate. And, under no circumstances ever eat a peanut butter and jelly sandwich off the floor. (My mom says so.)