Unhelping by Zachary Zugg Imig

…Zachary Zugg took out the rug,
Jennifer Joy helped shake it.
And Jennifer Joy She made a toy,
And Zachary Zugg helped break it.

from “Helping” by Shel Silverstein

I’m a dedicated unhelper. I unhelp–for free–in my kids’ school, and with the local Jewish community. I sign up, and I show up, with smiling eyes, ready hands, and ample enthusiasm. With that smile and enthusiasm comes a super-sized social tendency, and a venti distractedness with room for spaciness. My volunteerism shows heart, if not as reliably…head.

Every Friday I administer spelling tests in my fifth-grader’s classroom. The fabulous teacher pretends that I’m doing her a service, when in reality she can give these tests, grade them, record the grades, and distribute the tests to the kids’ mailboxes in a fraction of the time it takes me, and with complete efficiency. My results vary.

Once, after grading and filing the tests, Kaya’s test disappeared. I definitely gave her the test, graded the test, and filed the test, but apparently I filed the test into The Great Void that exists between the desk and the mailboxes directly to the right of the desk.  We never found the test. Thankfully, I had recorded Kaya’s grade, unlike the week when I recorded every single child’s grade with the exception of my own child’s grade. I have no explanation for this–especially given that our name falls in the middle of the list. Perhaps I began recording, then what—stopped to admire his mastery of “judgment” and “prejudice” because everyone knows those words are unspellable? Yet I managed to contain my drooling sufficiently to continue recording grades with the next child on the list. My unhelpfulness knows no bounds, and has found a place on my son’s academic record.

Let’s not forget the day when the kids asked me to define a spelling word, which I did by spelling out the word. “Teeth, Miss Ann?” “Yes, teeth as in t-e-e-t-h.” Thankfully, this was just a spelling test and not a spelling bee so that gaffe remained quarantined among three eleven-year-olds.

More recently, however, my unhelpfulness has extended to an entire populace. The Jews of Dane County will celebrate Purim with some seriously unhelpful pastry.

For years I’ve assisted in Hamantaschen baking— helping ready the pastry dough for families to pinch into 2000-some triangles that resemble the evil Haman’s hat, to which they add fruit filling and bake. One year I rolled and cut the dough. That year we had elephantine Hamantaschen and considerably fewer pastries than expected. This year, I helped measure the dry ingredients into bags for the next day’s dough-mixer volunteers.

Listen, after a bag has two cups of regular flour and gets passed along the Purim Chain gang to your station, unless you have xray measuring cup vision, it’s not blatantly obvious if you’ve already added just one cup of cake flour or two. Especially if you’re feeling hyper-conscious about your unhelpful flour leveling-skills and unhelpful kosher kitchen aptitude. Especially especially if you’re discussing what it takes to get into college these days or the going rate for Bar Mitzvah gifting or summer camp tuition. It’s hard to talk and measure and cry at the same time. You might double-down on some bags. You might not learn from your mistakes, even as you give yourself a pep-talk:

You can do this, Ann—daughter of the ancient Israelites Abraham, Isaac, & Jacob, Rachel, Leah, Edward and Nancy! You can focus and measure and not ruin Purim! Concentrate. The Jews Defeated Haman And Survived And Deserve Flaky Prune Filled Dough Hats!!

The good news? I have a new weakness to add to my arsenal for those interview questions in which you reveal your honesty but don’t say anything that could negatively impact the hiring process.

“Cannot measure cake flour and socialize at the same time.”

The bad news? I need to change my Hebrew name to Zachary Zugg.

…And some kind of help
Is the kind of help
That helping’s all about.
And some kind of help
Is the kind of help
We all can do without.

from “Helping” by Shel Silverstein