Having a child in school was one of the most eye-opening experiences I have ever been through. It gave me a whole new insight into the lunacy we called “home.”
Perfectly innocent things had a way of being turned into perverse and odd happenings when related by Young Man to his teacher during kindergarten show and tell.
Take Christmas for instance. That lovely holiday that requires a prominent display of mistletoe. Because of the layout of our house at that time, the only place to conveniently hang mistletoe was in the entryway/mud room. This was convenient for Captain because he could innocently stand in the doorway looking for smooches from any passerby…that was usually me. It also happened to be the area where he shed his filthy, dirty, chore clothes every night.
This didn’t seem to be a problem until first semester kindergarten conferences at school. Young Man’s teacher rather hemmed and hawed around, and then asked what we traditionally did with our mistletoe. Not understanding that this was tricky ground, I simply shrugged and said, “We hang it up and forget about it.” After more hemming and hawing, she finally got to the point.
It seemed that during show and tell, when the teacher was asking if anyone had mistletoe, Young Man raised his hand. The teacher asked him what he did under the mistletoe, and he said, “Nothing.” When asked if anyone else was under the mistletoe, he eagerly responded, “Daddy’s under the mistletoe every night!” When the teacher asked for an explanation of what Daddy did under the mistletoe, Young Man though a moment and said nonchalantly, “He takes his clothes off.”
The teacher did not seem amused by my sudden outburst of hysterical laughter. Evidently she had interpreted this to be something of a nudist tendency. However, in defense of the teacher, when she had the complete details of WHY Captain disrobed under the mistletoe, she too found the humor in the story.
Along with those times when this child caused embarrassment in the school setting, there were also times when his experiences pulled his mother’s heartstrings a little too tight.
One year, Valentine’s Day was anxiously anticipated in our house by Young Man because he had discovered his first sweetheart. He spent several days making her a Valentine at school and was very excited about surprising her with it on the bus on Valentine’s Day.
When the big day arrived and the bus brought him home, I was shocked to see him walking dejectedly toward the house with shoulders slumped and backpack dragging. I could see a rolled up something-or-other in his hand, too. When he came in the door, before I could ask what was wrong, he looked up at me with tears in his beautiful brown eyes and cried, “She didn’t want my Valentine, Mom! Will you take it?” Such cruel rejection was handed out by a young lady who simply didn’t like the color of the ribbon on his Valentine.
I told him I most certainly would take the Valentine. He handed it to me and stood looking at his feet while I opened it. It was a 2x2 foot white construction paper heart with a border finger-painted in pink, blue, purple and green with a heart felt message ghost-written by the teacher and signed with love.
I treasured treasured that Valentine through the years up until it went up in smoke with the house. To be honest, I’m quite sure that Young Man has long since forgotten his heartache. However, the story reminds me that while, as a parent, there were times I wanted to take the pain away from my children, it was not always possible to do so, and some lessons are best learned the hard way so as not to be forgotten. Love freely given and thrown back in someones face is the hardest lesson there is, so his Valentine story is a reminder to me to be considerate of other’s feelings.
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