Ridgewood, N.J.

ENOUGH with the organized snacks.

When did this start anyway? I’m at my 7-year-old’s soccer game. The game ends and this week’s designated “snack parent” produces a ginormous variety pack of over-processed chips and an equally gargantuan crate-cum-cooler. Our children swarm like something out of the climactic scene in “The Day of the Locust.”

Do our kids need yet another bag of Doritos and a juice box with enough sugar to coat a Honda Odyssey? Can’t they just finish playing and have some water?

Call me a spoilsport, but I don’t want to bring a team snack. I hate that first day, when the coach’s spouse passes around the sign-up sheet so we can schedule what parent brings the communal snack on what day. It’s too much pressure. Suppose I’m away? Suppose we want to visit relatives and miss that week? Now we have to find “snack coverage.” And heaven forbid you forget altogether and then the little darlings look longingly for the expected goody and you’re the social pariah who didn’t come through and that one mom, the one who always has the perfect after-school arts ’n’ crafts project, gives you the disapproving eye and head shake.

The scheduled snack is yet another way we cater to our child’s every whim. Guess what? Precious can go an hour — maybe more! — without eating. And if your child can’t make it that long, bring your own snack. Feed your kid’s need, not mine.