COMMENTARY
Bruce Andriatch: Giving up what’s sweet quite a feat
You really begin to notice how much free cake there is when you give up sweets for Lent.
A recent Wednesday at work was a prime example. I got a computer message in the morning that there would be cake at 1:30 for a colleague who was retiring. (From the looks of it—and just the looks of it—it might have been the greatest cake ever baked). Another message arrived at 2:46 p. m. that another colleague was holding the annual commemoration of her 24th birthday and that cake would be served. Two hours later, a third colleague approached with cake in his hand and said, “Taste this.”
Is there a sign on my back that says, “Cake me”?
This is the fifth year I have undertaken this most painful of personal sacrifices. By the time Easter arrives, I will have gone 46 days sans sweets. None. Candy, cookies, pie, cakes, Danish, muffins, ice cream all are off-limits.
I’ve been doing something for Lent for as long as I can remember. It always struck me as a relatively minor thing to do as an affirmation of faith.
The Catholic Church in recent years has encouraged its members to avoid giving something up and to do something positive instead. But I have gravitated toward doing the one thing that is more difficult for me than anything else.
It’s not just the omnipresent cake that makes this such a challenge. It’s the candy dishes on people’s desks. The vending machines. The candy bar fundraisers. The doughnut shops on virtually every corner. The bakery as you walk into the supermarket. The waitresses who ask “Are you sure?” when you say you do not want to see a dessert menu.
There’s also the rampant incredulity from people who see me saying no to whatever everyone else is eating and can’t believe it.
“You gave up all sweets?” they ask. “Yes, I did,” I reply. Which almost always leads to this follow- up question: “What’s wrong with you?”
If you give up something as broad as sweets, it inevitably creates issues about what a sweet is. I use the U. S. Supreme Court pornography definition: I know it when I see it.
So I say a milkshake is a sweet, but a fruit smoothie isn’t. Gummi bears: sweet. Gum and mints: not. A granola bar is OK, as long as there is no chocolate in it. I’m still not sure about hot chocolate, but it feels wrong.
At least my misery has company this year. My family—one wife, one son, two of my three daughters—has joined me in this pursuit. But they don’t share my zealotry.
My son admits to cheating three times, once “by mistake.”My twin daughters, who turned 17 last week, gave themselves dispensation to eat sweets on their birthday, near their birthday and on any day that reminds them of their birthday. My wife, who spent a good part of March muttering about how she needs chocolate and that I don’t understand, was done in by a combination of stress and a birthday dinner at the Cheesecake Factory.
I applaud their effort and don’t judge them when they fall short, mostly because I once convinced them that we should give up eating at restaurants for Lent and none of us ever really got over the emotional toll that it took on us.
We’re all in the homestretch now; in five days, Easter will be here, and this annual period of sacrifice will be over.
If I make it, I will have a satisfied smile on my face from achieving something in the name of faith.
The smile might not be visible until Monday, though. I plan to spend Sunday facedown in a bowl of jelly beans.
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