Whoever is responsible for the Cake Walk should punch himself in the face.
Who decided to teach kids that all they had to do was walk around and they would be rewarded, WITH CAKE.
WHO DOES THAT?
Life can't be walked through, right? It needs to be worked through. Isn't that what we were told? Isn't that what we spent all that time in school learning? Acquiring all of the knowledge and the skills necessary for surviving in this world?
Living is hard, LIFE is hard. It is in no way, shape, or form a CAKE WALK.
So, if life is hard, it takes work, and you can't just get things out of nowhere then why does the cake walk exist? All it does is provide the medium for a phrase used to describe exactly what life isn't.
Who did it? Hmm? Who's responsible? WHO. DID. THIS?
OUR PARENTS?
Was the cake walk Mom's idea? Was it the fact that there were several stay-at-home-moms who had an abundance of baked goods, obviously in direct correlation to the fact that they needed something to distract themselves from their own existence? Was it a carefully choreographed method of rationing the hoard? Or was it evidence to support the claim that there was indeed a sweet ending to slaving all day in the kitchen? To show our daughters and future ladies of America that being a housewife was a productive choice? Mom... was it you?
Or was it...
OUR TEACHERS?
Was it a lesson cleverly guised as a jovial activity away from the daunting ordinary lessons to nurture the idea that there is some tangible accolade for pursuing an education? Allowing us to bask in the sprinkled reverie of not only staying in school but being present and involved on a day when there was no school scheduled? Was it the positive reinforcement they deemed necessary for young people to keep filling the prison style brick buildings without question, which no doubt would gently remind the state that the signing of their feeble paychecks was an essential practice?
OR... No it COULDN'T be... Was it...
OUR CHURCH?
Cake walks are notorious for popping up during festivals sponsored by the church. Could it be the palpal powers' attempt at illustrating the blessings so commonly referred to in scripture and religious testaments? "Love Jesus. Eat cake." Or was it a clever, chocolaty blanket draped over the psyches of emerging minds to mask the blatant holes in theology en masse? No need for further inquiry, Love Jesus. Eat cake. It's that simple.
So, who? WHO? Whose ulterior motives are trying to seduce the youth by means of frosted, eye-catching goodness?
Well, dear friends, it is possible that maybe, just, maybe, there is a triumvirate at work.
It is abundantly clear that parents, teachers, and the church are a construct triplicate inducing buttercream frosted exploitation.
Yet, friends, before we fully allow red velvet McCarthyism to envenom wholesome baked goodness, we must consider the prospect that this confectionary trek is not taken on the grounds that a bitter twenty something looking back on his far too recent childhood may esteem.
There is a very real chance that, perhaps, it was an endeavor to imbue in us the concept of self-worth.
In the myriad of colored circles, walking about while music plays, hopping from shape to shape, or the random drawing of names or numbers from a colorful hat, one true fact remains:
All one had to do was be present to win.
Be there. That's it.
The hue of our flesh, the geography of our birth, the fiscal worth of our family's assets, or the gender of our valentine is of absolutely no merit.
Everyone present is given a chance to have their cake and eat it too.
Literally.
And here friends, pun intended, is the icing on the cake: If one did not get his just desserts upon the first round of chance, all he need do is keep walking. Eventually he is victorious.
There are no guaranteed success rate in this game, there is no mathematical equation that will determine when one receives his cake, the only solace in this confectioner's paradise is this: Those who keep walking will be rewarded.
We will get our sweet ending, friends. Just keep dancing to the music.
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