After finding my serenity with the endless barrage of fundraisers Stella’s school participates in – namely by tossing said info packets into the trash – they found a new schtick. Yesterday the American Heart Association sent home a sponsor form for a “Jump/Hoop-a-thon.”
This one is pretty insidious, and by insidious I mean clever, in that A) it’s the blasted AHA and any non-participation promptly signals you’re a heartless douchebag (Get it? Heartless?), B) they’ve enlisted the help of the kids by pitching it as a fun jump-rope party, which means you can’t ignore it with the kids being none the wiser, and C) they’ve attached a coveted “mascot,” Super Pup. This is basically a plastic dog keychain attached to the cheapest lanyard money can’t buy, meant to be worn as a necklace. Super Pup is “collectible” and has an entourage you can earn by raising more money.
Pictured above is the monkey wizard/clown collection for the $16 a bag popcorn sale. There were actually more “friends,” but they fell off in about 6 minutes and 44 seconds. I’m bitter. Sorry.
Stella is obsessed with Super Pup. And I have no problem sending $5 in an envelope so she can jump rope at school and win a cheap plastic toy. But these brochures are out of line. In the “suggestion” section in which parents are schooled in extortion, they tell you that by creating a website or Facebook page you can “share with even more friends and family.” Seriously? Because yeah, I obviously have my own web designer on staff with my maid, gardener, chef, and butler.
I have no problem with these charities. Many/most do good work. I’m a sucker for the “would you like to donate $1 to St. Jude” box at the grocery store checkout. This one, however, has crossed some kind of line in my parental sand.