As she puts it: "Sugar Mama writes, lives and bribes her kids with sugar in Laguna Beach, California. And sometimes in Target."
I
had every intention of turning my firstborn’s first-day-of-kindergarten
angst into a column filled with conflicted feelings every parent goes
through. On one hand, we’ve been waiting for our energy-charged kids to
be old enough to fly the coop from the moment they could crawl — just
for a little respite! On the flip side, each morning they wake up and
don their backpacks marks one day closer to them leaving us permanently
(and perhaps with someone they meet in kindergarten, no less!).
What if there’s a girl in Jackson’s kindergarten homeroom who wears
rainbow-colored bows and likes trains? She’ll undoubtedly steal his
heart from mine faster than I can say, “my baby.”
But the moment I start feeling this empty-nest-anxiety, I find solace
in the fact that there are things Jackson will learn in school that he
simply can’t get from home. And I’m not talking about reading, writing
and arithmetic. I’m referring to the other 3R’s: Respect for Others,
Respect for his Things, and Respect for the Environment. At least,
these are the three tenents my husband and I committed to the moment we
became overwhelmed with all the ”shoulda’s” in parenting. (So if our
kids’ questionable behavior doesn’t fall into one of these R’s, we let
it slide… Unless there’s blood.)
But it’s the respect for others component to parenting that had us
stymied by the time Jackson reached school age. Because unless we
rented a melting pot of a family, inclusive of color, disability and
alternative lifestyle, where was he going to gain an understanding of
the real world? The world we hope he’d make a better place?
Not on our homogenous street in Laguna Beach, California… “Real Life,” folks, happens at school.
So when it came to deciding on a kindergarten for Jackson, I had
concern for things other than curriculum. I wanted to see the cars in
the school parking lots, the names on the class rosters, the books on
the shelves. I was, perhaps, looking for a glimmer of my own elementary
experience. Born and raised in San Francisco, I had male teachers with
boyfriends, a valedictorian named Monifa and a bus system that was
public — not yellow with black letters. Did all this make me better at
my times tables? Not necessarily. But did it make me a better person?
Most definitely.
Or at least a better parent who can diffuse a land mine of ignorance before the light turns green.
Last month, while stopped at a red light with Jackson, he asked if he
could have a play date with “Evan” from pre-school.
“Sure. Let me find out who his mom is and see I’ll see if we can work something out,” I said.
“He doesn’t have a mom,” Jackson informed me.
“Oh.” And I was immediately endeared to poor Evan. “Well, I’ll call his dad then.”
“Which dad?” Jackson asked. “He has two.”
Aha. This play date wasn’t about Evan. Nor was there a mom who had passed — it was about a boy with two gay dads.
“Do you have a question for me about Evan’s family, Jackson?” I asked.
“Yeah, why does he have two dads and no mom?” he inquired.
“Well, it sounds like his dads loved each other very much and wanted a baby, so they found a way to have one,” I offered.
“So, they’re... married?” he asked.
“Maybe,” I said. “In some places, men can marry men and women can marry women.”
“So can I marry Evan?” Jackson asked.
“Well, I think you have to be eighteen, honey,” I said. “And you have to love each other no matter what.”
“Well I don’t think we will, then,” Jackson said. “He pushed me off the swing today.” And then the light turned green and that was that.
You see, parents do all they can at home, and teachers nurture
brilliant minds every day in school — but it’s the “Evans” in the
world that teach our kids compassion, bravery and tolerance. I mean,
this is a boy who will know firsthand about a love that defies
boundaries, that gossip is hurtful, and judgment is usually a waste of
time.
Now that’s a kid I want at my son’s lunch table.
Am I conflicted this month, with Jackson’s first day of kindergarten
upon me? You bet. It really does seem like yesterday that I held him in
my arms as a newborn. Or when he muttered “mommy” for the first time.
But with one tiny sneaker in front of the other, I accept that his time
has come to navigate his future en masse — with friends, teachers and
experiences that will shape his heart and mind forever.
And all this, on a little yellow bus...
So I’d like to dedicate this column to Evan and his family. Because of
you, my son gained an understanding of love, compassion and tolerance I
could never have found in a book.
And you’re not an “other,” Evan. You’re simply like no other.
Recent Comments