Not long ago my little children asked me to chaperone their class trip to the zoo. I realized then, much to my dismay, that I have never chaperoned any of their school activities. They are in sixth grade. Total. Motherhood. Fail.
So I said yes. I don't get to say yes nearly as much as I want. My life is a daze of working and writing and working and looking for the next thing to do. It's sort of a crappy life, frankly, and I'm getting kind of tired of it.
Thus? We went to the zoo.
But before we did, I went into my daughter's classroom. Her sixth grade classroom. Which was full of girls who had on far more make-up than I and were using curse words that would have gotten my face slapped when I was at that age.
And my daughter? Was sitting. Quietly. In the last seat, in the last row. Silently reading a book. Ignoring the massive noise and confusion all around her. I don't know how, but she was.
She does that all the time, according to her teacher. She doesn't really interact with the other kids. She keeps to herself. She's quiet. Silent, really, unless called upon.
So she's weird.
Or they eat her alive. And she'll forever be someone other than who she is right now.
It seems like an unfair choice, frankly. And even more unfair? I can't help her.
To her credit, she seems unconcerned about everything going on around her. She doesn't feel the aches of being alone. She doesn't seem concerned that the other kids are faster, and seem older. She appears to be perfectly content with who she is.
I hope appearances are not deceiving in this case. I really do.
Making the decision to have a child is momentous. It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking around outside your body. Elizabeth Stone said that. And big ups to Elizabeth Stone because truer words have never been spoken.