My grade school finished last in almost every area imaginable. With 18 in my graduating class, we were tiny by any standard. Our size was not conducive to an award-winning institution. Our facilities were far from immaculate, our test scores less than average and our sports teams at times embarrassing. We were not the brightest, the biggest or the best. But if there was one thing we could do right, it was a bake sale.
I remember bake sales like I remember Christmas mornings, filled with an abundance of smiling and sugar and no apologies for either. At the Catholic grade school I attended in Cincinnati, the multitude of clubs, sports and other extracurriculars could not depend on the schools limited budget for all of their needs. This meant parents and the students themselves needed to step up and raise funds in other ways. Students would get so excited about the prospect of freshly baked sweets in the middle of the school day, our principal had to put a limit on how much you could spend: $1 per person. A single dollar in this economy probably wouldn't buy half a cookie, but at these modest events it could buy you four brownies, two cupcakes or roughly eight lemon squares. We probably got too excited for such insignificant events. We definitely experienced manic-level sugar highs and absolutely felt sick afterwards. But in the end, none of it mattered. The bake sales were not aimless opportunities for school moms to stay up late baking. They were not a ploy to make fat kids fatter. They were held because they needed to be, because without them the softball team would have to go without uniforms, the girl scouts couldn't attend overnight camps and the band would need to share music stands.
In June, the New York City Department of Education issued a three-page "Summary of Changes" detailing a plan to make school food healthier in the hopes of reducing obesity. The "Wellness Policy," a revision to the previous policy released in February 2004, has good intentions. Created to, "improve the quality and nutritional value of foods and beverages that are available for children," it is one of the many ways Mayor Bloomberg is pledging to bring down obesity in the city that never sleeps (and apparently never stops eating). Already implemented in every public school across the city, this highly criticized policy centers on vending machines exclusively offering Department of Education-approved food. No more Cheetos, fine. But slipped into the middle of the policy is a depressing regulation, "Fundraising sales involving non-approved food items and/or non-approved beverages are prohibited." No bake sales. Not for anyone other than Parent Associations anyway, which it goes on to say are limited to once a month. For small groups with no other options, this means no fundraising. Sure, there are other ways to do it, but I challenge you to find one as practical and effortless as baking a $2 box of brownies.
Public schools are funded by the government. Their job is to educate the youth of America and create leaders who will help shape our world in the future. Does the government have the right to control whether the volleyball team sells pumpkin bread? Yes. Is it big government encroaching on rights that are fundamentally ours? Many think so. Educating kids about the negative effects of obesity and the growing epidemic it has become is not only positive but necessary. Trying to promote healthier options through a more balanced diet and improved choices in vending machines is noteworthy. Ending the ability of small school groups to make money in one of the only ways they can is absurd. Bake sales were a part of the glorious memory that is grade school. Not only would I have missed out on some of the greatest funfetti cupcakes I have ever tasted, but also I would not have been able to do half of the things I loved most. Allowing this much government regulation in schools is handing over a frightening amount of power to an institution known for abusing it. It is bake sales for now, but who knows what is to come. Maybe next year the provisions will include a loss of lunchtime dessert privileges, even for brown baggers. That would mean the end of companies that exist solely for the purpose of providing delicious and affordable lunchtime delights. A world without Twinkies isn't one I want to call my own.
Abby Haglage haglagag@muohio.edu
