My Son Took Me To School

The guy ahead of us looked kind of scary.  His shaved head and tattoos could have been the typical uniform of the heavy metal fan, but there was a hard look about him that made my internal caution light go off.  I wasn't necessarily concerned, but it never hurts to be aware of who is around you and what is happening.  It helps to ease some of my anxiety, anyway.

Zane and I were doing some grocery shopping, and the place was packed.  I was a bit frazzled. Shopping with my son is a never ending battle of  "I want that!" and "No", along with him trying to sneak items in the cart along the way.  Happy to be close to the end of this particular trip, I was focused on getting the groceries onto the conveyor belt.  I noticed the guy ahead of us, but not much else.  He was finishing up his transaction; he reached into his front pocket for his cash. I turned away to reach for a bulky item underneath the cart, barely registering the sound of coins bouncing off of the concrete floor.

Zane sprang into action.  He ran over, dropped to his knees and started hunting down all of the coins that the man had dropped.  When he had gathered up all of the change, my son stood up and held his hand out to give the coins back.  That's when this intimidating man told Zane to keep the coins, thank you, and handed him three dollars.  Zane ran back to me clutching his newfound wealth, very excited.  As I made sure my son said thank you, I realized something.

My son held no preconceived notions about the human being in front of him.  He saw a person who needed help, and he helped him.  That was it.  Boom!--Kindness.  On the other hand, I had a prejudiced view of people who looked like this gentleman, and I let that color my opinion before we'd even had an interaction.

I don't often see my own biases laid out before me so plainly, but there they were, like freshly washed bloomers hanging in the sunlight.  I try so hard not to judge people, but perhaps not hard enough.  I felt a little chastened.

My son took me to school.  I hope that I can remember this particular lesson.

A to Z: Parents Come In All Flavors

Perhaps I'm old fashioned.  I did grow up in a traditional household, with a mom who stayed at home and a dad who went to work.  A mom who cooked and cleaned and occasionally made things for me for various school activities.  Everyone I knew lived in the same sort of household.  No variation to the plan, all through high school.   

But the times have changed, and traditional has taken on an entirely different meaning. Parents come in all flavors, like ice cream.  In the traditional environment I grew up with, certain expectations seep underneath your skin, whether you like them or not.  Expectations about what moms are supposed to be, or look like, or sound like. 

I became a mother in my forties.  I am not a stay at home mom, either.  You would think that I should know better, be more accepting, but prejudices are like cockroaches, hiding in the shadows underneath the refrigerator.   I've had to get over a few biases over the years. Some that I didn't even know I had.    

I chaperoned a field trip last year with my son's class. One of the other moms had blue hair and several piercings.  I caught myself feeling...disapproval.  This woman didn't look like my expectation of a mother, and I got a little irritated about it.  Once I realized that I was being a bit of a jerk, I got even more irritated. At myself.  My bias was showing!  This mom was obviously very interested in her child.  She stayed with him as he walked through the pumpkin patch and helped out with some of the face painting.  If a mom loves her kid, is there for her child, who cares if her hair is blue?  The piercings I'm still having difficulty with, but I'm working on it.  I can at least smile at her without wincing. (those had to hurt! especially the eyebrow!)

I've been around many different flavors of families over the years.  Some are the traditional families, but they are becoming a rarity.  What I see most often today are single moms(and occasionally single dads) trying to raise children by themselves.  I've seen families with two moms or two dads.  I've seen grandparents raising their grandchildren, something that was completely unheard of when I was a kid.  What used to be the expected form of the family has changed.  What was, served a purpose, and that purpose no longer exists in this day.  It's time to accept that, and move on.  That includes me.

Different doesn't mean bad, no matter the flavor. There are too many children abused, neglected, or thrown away out in the world. Parenting is a thankless job, and it is not for the weak. Instead of castigating a parent because they are different, embrace them for the warriors they are.  If a person loves their child and is willing to do what it takes to raise them to adulthood?  It is all to the good.