Thursday, December 08, 2005
Dear Santa,
During the Thanksgiving break, Max was invited to join a carpool. Now every morning and three afternoons a week, Max rides shotgun with three of his chums. For Max the Gregarious, this represents a quantum leap forward in his quality of life. Drives to and from school have become comedy central. And the fact that I see other moms every day with so little effort translates into many more after-school playdates for Max. In his view, Max has arrived at the Show.
My feelings about carpool are more mixed than Max's. I relish the additional time at home, without the pressure to get both kids into clothes and out of the house and into the car and under the freeway and over the railroad tracks and to school on time. I enjoy observing Max alongside three other kids his age and to get a glimpse into their little community. I'm tickled to get to engage the whole gaggle of kids in whimsical fantasies about where we might be headed other than to school and back. But I miss the time alone with Max, or with Max and Boo, when we'd discuss what happened at school or play silly word games or just be together in silence. As my friend Libby said long ago, the hardest thing about being a parent is helping your child grow away from you a little more each day.
This week as I drove the kids home from school, I decided to ask the bunch of them about their day at school. My query about each child's favorite part of the day didn't elicit much response, so I got more specific and asked what they'd drawn during art. (Because they're kids, I'm going to take some license with names here.)
Olivia: I didn't draw. I painted a candy cane.
Peter: I drew a gingerbread man.
Gabriel: I drew a Christmas tree.
Max: I drew an apotosaurus.
Interesting. Had the class been given a holiday-themed assignment that Max simply ignored? Or were the other children borrowing inspiration from classroom decorations or a book that had just been read? How had Max's apparent non-sequitur come about? Perhaps he was contemplating a flying, red-nosed apotosaurus.
I continued: "I think I see a pattern here. It sounds like many of you may be thinking about Christmas. What is each of you hoping to get for Christmas?" No sooner had the question left my mouth than I regretted it. I disliked focusing their attention on the material aspects of Christmas. I disdained the possibility that they might begin making comparisons amongst themselves about toys--how big, how much, how many. It was not the message I wanted to send. But is was too late.
Olivia: I want a scooter and some candy.
Peter: I want a jeep and a car and some candy.
Gabriel, hesitating for a moment: I want some candy.
Max: I want seeds.
Me: Seeds, Max?
Max: Yeah, you know, pumpkin seeds, so that we can plant a garden.
There are so many things I love about Max, but now I get to admire him, too. I admire that he's unique and uninhibited. I admire that he's unswayed by the chorus around him. And I admire that he operates on his own terms. There may be nothing I'd rather give a child than a sense of himself sturdy enough to withstand the bumps and bruises that life invariably bestows. Hang in there, dear Max.
My feelings about carpool are more mixed than Max's. I relish the additional time at home, without the pressure to get both kids into clothes and out of the house and into the car and under the freeway and over the railroad tracks and to school on time. I enjoy observing Max alongside three other kids his age and to get a glimpse into their little community. I'm tickled to get to engage the whole gaggle of kids in whimsical fantasies about where we might be headed other than to school and back. But I miss the time alone with Max, or with Max and Boo, when we'd discuss what happened at school or play silly word games or just be together in silence. As my friend Libby said long ago, the hardest thing about being a parent is helping your child grow away from you a little more each day.
This week as I drove the kids home from school, I decided to ask the bunch of them about their day at school. My query about each child's favorite part of the day didn't elicit much response, so I got more specific and asked what they'd drawn during art. (Because they're kids, I'm going to take some license with names here.)
Olivia: I didn't draw. I painted a candy cane.
Peter: I drew a gingerbread man.
Gabriel: I drew a Christmas tree.
Max: I drew an apotosaurus.
Interesting. Had the class been given a holiday-themed assignment that Max simply ignored? Or were the other children borrowing inspiration from classroom decorations or a book that had just been read? How had Max's apparent non-sequitur come about? Perhaps he was contemplating a flying, red-nosed apotosaurus.
I continued: "I think I see a pattern here. It sounds like many of you may be thinking about Christmas. What is each of you hoping to get for Christmas?" No sooner had the question left my mouth than I regretted it. I disliked focusing their attention on the material aspects of Christmas. I disdained the possibility that they might begin making comparisons amongst themselves about toys--how big, how much, how many. It was not the message I wanted to send. But is was too late.
Olivia: I want a scooter and some candy.
Peter: I want a jeep and a car and some candy.
Gabriel, hesitating for a moment: I want some candy.
Max: I want seeds.
Me: Seeds, Max?
Max: Yeah, you know, pumpkin seeds, so that we can plant a garden.
There are so many things I love about Max, but now I get to admire him, too. I admire that he's unique and uninhibited. I admire that he's unswayed by the chorus around him. And I admire that he operates on his own terms. There may be nothing I'd rather give a child than a sense of himself sturdy enough to withstand the bumps and bruises that life invariably bestows. Hang in there, dear Max.
4 Comments:
This post is wonderful! If I could have what I want for Christmas, it would be a car-pool-cam on board to record the entire trip each day. Until then, your record is a great substitute.
Wonderful writing, Melanie!
A garden, eh? Perhaps Max got some of his grandmothers' gardening genes.
I want apatosaurus seeds!
Oh, and candy. ;-)
Oops! I meant great-grandmother - our grandmothers, Melanie, not Max's.
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