An obligatory back to school post
An obligatory back to school post
At the ripe age of 39, I am a humble lady who realizes I have so much to learn. It’s funny how, from ages 15 to 29, I was convinced I knew (almost) everything. I am now convinced I don’t know enough. I decided to do something about it. I put down my phone and picked up books instead. I write more with pen and paper. Over the past year, I took two online creative writing classes because my job is riddled with corporate speak and I had to write sentences that were actually fun for once. Next up, I’ll be taking a UCSD extension writing course next month.
On my walk today, I remembered a question my daughter asked me.
“What’s the strongest part of your body?”
I took a long pause because I didn’t want to mess up this answer. It almost seemed like a trick question. My daughter loves gymnastics and can climb up to the top of the rope. My husband has some pretty impressive biceps. I surprise myself with how many pull-ups I can pull off. But I knew this didn’t hit the mark.
And then I had it.
“My brain.”
So now we all confidently talk about the ultimate flex – our intelligence. Here’s to back to school season. We get to watch our nephew start his senior year on Thursday. My kids go back to school two weeks from today.
I’ll leave you with an assignment from my writing course a few months ago. This particular week’s assignment was on dialogue.
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“Come on, it’s time to go! Where’s your socks?” my husband, Gabe, asks from the living room fixing the collar on his work shirt, ready to start the week. I scramble to brush my teeth for Monday morning drop off.
“I don’t know,” Jack replies as he squats over his treasured rainbow of magnetic blocks.
“You just had them, where did they go?”
“Papa, I don’t know!” he says, head down, black shaggy hair barely covering his eyes.
“Jack, it’s not time to play right now. We need to find your socks, it’s time to go.”
“I need to fix it!” Jack tries to repair the bridge his 7-year-old sister crashed into, now a pile of plastic rubble.
“We will leave it right here for you. We won’t touch it. It will be the same as you left it when you get back,” Gabe says.
The wailing began. The struggle to put on his striped wool socks, kicking included. Then the shoes, refusing to push his feet in through the blue velcro.
“I need to finish it!” Tears and snot drip down his flushed cheeks and chin.
I didn’t really think too much about astrological signs until Jack’s 4-year-old personality started unfolding. As a Virgo, everything must be just so. Certain things must be in its place, particularly in his own, very specific way.
“Can we have a podcast, mom?” Catalina asks, trying to rid the tense situation as we pull out of the driveway.
“No, I want si-yence” Jack commands, still unable to pronounce his Ls.
“Yes, let’s sit in silence while we cool down,” I said, heart still heavily beating from the rush. The drive only heated up each mile we passed. Jack reminded “shish-ter” she owed him an apology.
Her response: “It was an accident and I said I was sorry… I think… and it wasn’t that big of a thing anyway!”
More quarreling continued and the car was everything but mute.
We drop off Catalina and I pull into a parking spot before we head to his school. I get out and open his door, finding him slouched in his car seat.
“Jack, can we start over?”
A long pause.
“What do you think?” I ask Jack.
“Yes, OK, we can start over,” he looks down.
I give him a kiss on the cheek, and we drive to his school. On the 5-block drive, I notice the bright pink bougainvillea on one corner, the sun shining through the windshield. But somehow, I missed his expression in the rearview mirror because I was not ready for what he said next.
“My face can’t get happy!”
Well, there it is. My kid is human.
“Oh my gosh. You know what, Jack? I get it. You don’t have to be happy and that’s OK. You go ahead and feel however you feel. Sometimes when I’m mad, I’m just mad and that’s OK too.”
I drive another block.
“OK, my face is happy now.”