Fast Food for Thought: Capo Valley Fails a Health Test

I incurred the wrath of many parents a few weeks ago by arguing against the Irvine Unified School District’s idea to require students to wear helmets while riding their bikes to and from school. My argument wasn’t against helmets; it was against the school district’s requiring them--an act I considered a usurpation of parental responsibility.

I tried to couch my criticism then by saying upfront that I had never been a parent, but that didn’t stem the subsequent tide of complaints.

OK, I took my lumps because I couldn’t argue with much conviction that I knew anything about either kids or bike helmets.

But now another issue has rolled around--this time in the Capistrano Unified School District--and this one involves a subject on which I’m eminently qualified to speak: fast food.

There may be some poor slug somewhere who’s eaten more cheeseburgers than I, but I doubt it. I started early (Hans and Laura Larsen made great ones in their Marquette, Neb., cafe in 1959), and it was a blessed day, indeed, if I could somehow scrounge up the 50 cents needed to buy a cheeseburger and malt.

Assuming I’ve averaged only two cheeseburgers a week since then (a definite low-ball estimate), my calculator reveals we’re closing in on the vaunted 3,500-cheeseburger mark. I don’t know at what point someone is eligible for the Burger Hall of Fame, but I’ve got to be getting close.

Having established my credentials, let’s go back to the news.

The Capo Unified district has announced, with much fanfare, that it is setting up a first-in-the-nation food court at Capo Valley High School in Mission Viejo. The centerpiece of the court will be fast-food outlets of Kentucky Fried Chicken, Pizza Hut and Taco Bell. School district officials say that’s the food the kids want, so that’s the food the kids will get.

Isn’t there some sort of Hippocratic oath that school officials are required to take, vowing not to do anything that will harm their students? Hasn’t all the literature in recent years warned of the perils of the fast-food diet, or has my mother been cleverly manufacturing on her own all these clippings she sends me in the mail?

What’s next, cigarette machines in the locker room? A wet bar in the library?

I had always thought cheeseburgers were my friends until a couple years ago when I went to the doctor for a routine physical exam. He studied the results and started stroking his chin in that way that really makes you nervous.

He told me my cholesterol count was over 300, and after I said my idea of a well-rounded meal was a burger, fries and tasty soft drink, he signed me up for a health class at the hospital.

There’s nothing more sobering than being 40 and sitting in a room of people in their 50s, 60s and 70s and realizing your heart is in the same condition as theirs. The dietitian began explaining words such as arteriosclerosis , and suddenly Mr. Cheeseburger wasn’t our friend anymore.

With my cholesterol count at that level, the doctor made me promise to quit eating red meat completely for the next two months. The dietitian provided everyone in the room with recommended diets, a list that included such exotic food dishes as fruits, vegetables and fish.

If a change in diet didn’t help, she said, we would have to consider medicine to control our cholesterol counts. She began discussing possible side effects of the medicine, but I tuned out after she mentioned flatulence.

Anyway, I learned my lesson--but only temporarily. I came back two meat-free months later, and my cholesterol count was down in the 270s. I had taken their medical advice seriously, but after seeing that dietary changes could produce such quick results, I fell back into my old bad habits and was soon worshiping again at the altar of the Holy Trinity: McDonald’s, Kentucky Fried and Wienerschnitzel.

It’s probably too late for me, but like most oldsters, I hate to see young people follow my decadent path.

My doctor probably will cringe when he hears what they’re doing in Capo Unified.

Then again, he could take some consolation in knowing that at least for the next generation or so, his business will continue to be good.