Thursday, September 27, 2012

Crying on the Playground

It has been a while since I have stood in the middle of a playground and cried.

This is a half-truth.

I have stood in the middle of a playground and cried more often in the last 4 years than I did in probably my entire childhood. But it still catches me by surprise almost every time. I have also stood in an auditorium and cried, in a school cafeteria and cried, and in a classroom, and one time in the hallway.

It's embarrassing.

But not really.

I stood on the playground of the monkeys' new school yesterday afternoon in the brilliant, warm autumn sunlight and cried. I was wearing large sunglasses, so my tears were mostly hidden.

I watched 300 little people in lime green shirts walk in circles and I cried.

I cried because all last week I was grumbling about how our state is lame and under-funds our schools; about how the powers that be think that things like art and music and theater and classroom aides and vice principals are luxuries in education and we have to go, hat in hand, to ask for money for our schools several times a year. And yet, on this sunny Wednesday afternoon, dozens of parents took time out of their schedules to count laps, hand out stickers and pretzels and small cups of water, to cheer for little students and to dance to loud music. I cried because people who didn't have to, happily wrote checks to be given to teachers in grubby little crumpled envelopes so my kids could paint pictures and sing songs.

I cried because there were hundreds of kids walking with purpose in laps around the playground, collecting stickers for each lap as if it were the most important thing in the world. I cried because they were laughing and singing and clapping and skipping and happy to do it, full of pride for their school.

I cried because after searching the sea of constant motion, all in matching T-shirts, I saw my jBird. She's a cygnet on her way to a swan. She was walking alone with a goofy grin and an occasional shimmy to the music, her head tilted forward in determination and her little wings flapping. I missed her on her first few laps because I was looking for someone shorter, less mature, closer to the chubbiness of the baby she was than the long and lean and graceful young lady she's becoming. I cried because when she saw me, her pretense melted away and she came clopping over on suddenly larger feet and uneven teeth and breathless and said "I am having so much fun!" Because she asked me to walk with her and was still child enough to proudly hold my hand and giggle at my ridiculous jokes. Because she let go of my hand when I walked too slowly, telling me: "I need to do this."

I cried because my Hooligan cruised up with a friend in tow, their hands full of snacks and water, and told me they had 'Nilla Wafers. Because he is so very much himself, my slow and steady tortoise who stops for snacks whenever they're offered. Because he will happily participate in whatever is there and find a way to make it suit him. Because he is so small, but such a large presence there, whooping and singing and exclaiming about the food. Because he doesn't seem to care about anything but then saves important things up to tell me later. Because he wanted to sit in my lap and show me his stickers, but then realized he had to get up if he wanted to get more. Because he is still so much my baby, but goes mightily about his business.

I cried because while I watched the two of them holding hands and urging each other along, another mother, a stranger, told me they were sweet and I was lucky they were such good friends.

I cried for all of it. For the community and the generosity. For the absurdity and the silliness. For the determination and the spirit. For what is past and what is yet to come. For this fleeting moment on a weekday afternoon where I could be suspended in time for just a little while and watch them walk in circles. For the knowledge that they are really walking onward, heads tilted forward in determination, small wings flapping and growing stronger, ambling and charging and occasionally stopping for snacks.

I stood on the playground and cried.
It's embarrassing.
But not really.

21 comments:

  1. i think those are the moments that define who we are, what is important to us. those are the moments that our children remember. and that we remember, fondly, years later, so grateful that we took the time to walk laps :)

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    1. I don't know if they'll remember, I hope they do. I know I will. You're right. It is the small things that add up to something so wonderful.

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  2. Bless your sweet, warm, grateful, Momma heart. <3 Now I am crying too. And I am not the least bit embarrassed.

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  3. The school I worked at for five years is having their walking fundraiser in a few days and they're having a really hard time generating the donations. I emailed this link to the secretary to cheer her up. It's so well-said and true. Thank you.

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    1. I hope it cheers her up. I also hope they get the donations they need.

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  4. Wonderful and very familiar post. The school where my children attended and where I taught a K-1-2 class for years had a fund raiser every year. The school was built in the 1930's and has an awesome upper play field with the coolest old oak trees. I know that blend of encouragement and anger and pride and community spirit that goes in the "jog-a-thon". I still remember standing in the October sharp sun and feeling that messed up collection.

    My kids went on to high school (where they sold magazines) and college (where we refinanced the house to pay for it) - and I moved over to the middle school.

    I am still angry that kids have to spend time walking in circles to raise pennies for books and art supplies and music and jump ropes and counselors. And yet there are people in this country who could fund whole schools and not even notice a change in their lifestyle. ANd I don't' even want to think about the amount of money that goes into defending some misplaced loyalties. You know the old tee shirt slogan - it will be a great day when schools have all the money they need and the air force is having a bake sale to pay for bombs.

    Okay, I'll go away now.

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  5. From one cryer to another - love this post. I cry when it snows. I cry whenever a program does "a big reveal." I cry when I can't find my shoes.

    And whenever I am "discovered," I pull out my ever-present tissue blame allergies. Then I cry about being "discovered."

    As far as I'm concerned, the world needs a few more cryers. Glad to have you as part of the club.

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    1. Do we get T-shirts? They should have hankies around the hem of them for the unexpected tears at odd times. I agree with you, Marianne, we need more criers.

      And speaking of "big reveal" - I cannot ever watch "The Biggest Loser" with out crying like a baby. This is the real reason I don't ever watch TV, I cry too much.

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  6. "From one cryer to another - love this post. I cry when it snows. I cry whenever a program does "a big reveal." I cry when I can't find my shoes."

    ^ Me in a sentence. :)

    But don't tell anybody! It'll ruin my cover! Shhhhh!

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    1. Just dropped your membership card in the mail, Larissa.

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    2. I think we should all be able to cry freely if we need to. That way we can spot each other in crowds.

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  7. This is a lovely post Tangled.

    I was at work (pre marriage and kids) in the city on the fifth floor when I heard marching band music coming from the street below our office block. I went over to the windows like most of my work mates to see what was going on.

    There was a parade of servicemen and women marching down the street below us. I was transfixed, mesmerized by the group action and the unity and perhaps the sadness of war. The parade held my attention way longer than it did anyone else and I cried.

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    1. I would have been next to you, Julie, and handing you a tissue. (:

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    2. Marching bands, man. They get me every time.
      Thanks for stopping by, Julie! It's nice to "see" you again.

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  8. You have so beautifully captured the feelings of being a mother. Someday, your children will be all grown, and they'll be able to read your words and they will understand how very much you love them. What an incredible gift.

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    1. Thanks, Jewels. You know, I keep a journal for each of them, because I am better sometimes about writing the things that lay directly on my heart than saying them aloud. I hope they read them and understand one day. I hope they understand to some extent now.

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  9. I love this post. You cry because people who pay attention, really, really pay attention the way that you do, can't not.

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    1. This is the sort of reinforcement that I need. It is tempting to say that I am just an addled old sap. But I like your reasoning better.
      Thanks, Masked Mom.

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  10. I only cry when I am really mad or really proud and both occur with alarming regularity with my kids. The amount of times I have cried whilst trying to argue with nursery staff over their care is just silly. More frequent however are the tears I shed just beacuse my little one walks head held high into school, you don't want to know how bad I am with moments like these.

    Where that badge with hounour ;-)

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