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We recently celebrated my son Alec's 7th birthday. It was a sprawling summer
affair on our front lawn with a slip-and-slide, a make-your-own sundae bar,
and a gluten-free, amazing castle cake that we drove 50 miles to pick up. We
served a wide variety of food -- drumsticks, hot dogs (kosher and vegetarian),
chips, baby carrots. Everything was gluten free because I wanted Alec to have at
least one social event a year, his own party, where everything was safe to
eat.
We decided to serve the hot dogs without buns. It was an easy decision to
forgo the buns because I'd attended lots of kids' parties and seen plenty of hot
dogs eaten and plenty of catsup-soaked buns tossed in the trash.
One little boy stepped up to the buffet, looked at the hot dogs, and asked
for a bun. I simply said, "We don't have any." He froze. He looked at me as if I
had said that we eat kittens for breakfast. "How can you eat a hot dog
without a bun?" he asked. Well, you eat it using a fork. Alec can't eat buns and
since it's his party, we don't have any today," I explained.
As he dug into the question and I into the answer, I tried appealing to
empathy. I noted that at most birthday parties, Alec can't eat anything. At Alec's
party, this little boy can eat everything, but some things might be missing,
like buns. No go. I offered a slice of gluten-free bread as an alternative to
the bun, but that was met with sheer horror. He completely fell apart. He could
never, ever, under any circumstance eat a hot dog without a bun. As we
continued, it was clear that he would not, could not, eat anything at a house where
they served hot dogs without the buns. In fact, we needed to call his mother
right now. As his universe fell apart and we tried valiantly to contact his
mother, I felt awful. It was clear that this was an existential crisis for this
child.
Mom came and whisked him home to a world where hot dogs come sheathed in
buns. He missed the piņata, the make-your-own-sundae whipped cream frenzy, the
cake, and the squirt gun/water balloon battle. He missed the party because we
didn't have a bun.
What a metaphor for our lives. How many people miss the party for want of a
bun? They can't see how good life is because the bun isn't there -- the bun
could be the right job, the right car, the right something that completes their
vision of a perfect universe. How many times in our own lives do we obsess
about the damn missing bun? And as I think of the people I know with celiac
disease, I see how they all must learn to look beyond the bun and enjoy the party --
the big sprawling, wet-and-wild, fun-filled celebration of life.
This article is reprinted with permission from the Fall 2004 issue of Living
Without magazine. That issue is available at www.LivingWithout.com. In July
2004, Folio, the magazine for the publishing industry, featured Living Without
magazine in "Small Magazines We Adore" stating "It's a brilliant example of a
niche magazine, and one that does some good. If you or someone you know has
dietary restrictions, you might not be able to live without, Living Without." We
think you'll agree. Party on!
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