All posts by Kirsetin
A New Beginning
Fisherman sweaters, wool skirts, brisk air, and football games all add up to one thing: back-to-school. The fall has always been my favorite season, and it’s as much tied up with the emotion of “new” as it is my love of the crisp weather and turning leaves.
For me, back-to-school often meant being the new girl, buoyed by my mom’s pep talks about all of the new friends and exciting opportunities that were ahead. Mostly, she was right. Whether it was North Carolina, Virginia or Pennsylvania, I always did make good friends, and we always had some exciting adventures, although my parents weren’t always so happy about those. I think there were days (years?) when my mom would’ve kept me behind these bars if she could have!
But even though I eventually made new friends, it doesn’t mean the first day, week, or month was easy. I can still hear my mom’s advice, so clearly, to “look people in the eye in the hallway and say hello.” Ouch. It was a lot harder than it sounds.
And sometimes, I wasn’t the new girl. We usually stayed in one place for three years, which meant that for two of those, I already had friends. Those beginnings were so much easier, so anticipated, fun even. Middle school, of course, was painful no matter what. I had to call my friend Michelle to be sure we were wearing our matching jeans and Vans; so lame, but I swear it’s true. And we really did think we were so very cool. My oldest son is approaching that age now, and when I think about how influential my peers were, how much what they thought mattered, it scares me to no end. Please, Lord, let him have better judgment than I did. I don’t want to have to wish him behind bars!
When I think back to all those years of fresh beginnings, new teachers, and new classrooms, I look at my boys and wonder what they’re feeling deep down inside. They’ve lived here all of their school lives, and are happy to get back to the routine and see their old friends. They don’t have that “who will I eat with in the cafeteria” trauma with which I was more than a passing acquaintance. When they find out who their teachers are, they know them. They know if they’re strict or funny or downright boring. In all of these ways, my children have the advantage. Quite often, I knew none of that.
And yet they haven’t had the experience of testing themselves, either. I wonder if they know they can make new friends, no matter where they live. I wonder if they know that looking people in the eye and saying “hello” really does work. I wonder if they realize that there are so many cultures within our own borders that it’s downright astounding. And I wonder if they’re sensitive to the new kids. We’ve talked about it, of course. I’ve made sure that they’ve heard it ad nauseam: it’s hard to be new; try to remember their names; say “hello,” even if you’re not going to be best buddies. And you never know. Your future best buddy might be moving here right now; you better be nice to him!
Welcome back to school!
This post was written for a Parent Bloggers Network contest sponsored by Hanes.
Keeping Things in Perspective
On my Facebook page I have a map that puts a little push pins in the cities I’ve visited. It’s quite cool, actually. Until I looked at that application, I hadn’t given much thought to how many places I’ve seen, but once I started clicking, I was sort of amazed. Plus, it brought back so many memories of so many places. My first big trip abroad was in high school when we flew to Spain to visit my dad. As a Marine pilot, he was gone on a Navy ship for six months practicing landing helicopters on the ship. (And other things, I’m sure. That answer has held me for this long, so I’m just going to go with it.) Rather than miss her chance to see some of Europe AND her husband, my mom packed my brother and I up, pulled us out of school for a bit, and hauled us across the Atlantic. The trip got cut short because of the hostage situation in Beirut. My dad’s ship went straight there, and my mom changed the plan and took my brother and I to London. I remember watching the news, seeing the picture of that ship sitting off the coast of Lebanon, and knowing my dad was on it.
Anyway, I digress.
For as long as I can remember, I’ve loved the experience of new places, different cultures, and the perspective that travel brings. After that first taste of travel, I longed for more. When the opportunity to study abroad came, I jumped. I spent the second half of my junior year of college living in Austria and traveling like a crazy fool. I loved it.
When I returned, I knew I wouldn’t stay still for long. Although I always thought I’d graduate, live in New England, get a nanny, and send my kids to a prep school so they could be ready for the future, I really wanted to give the west coast a try first. So after college, when most of my friends took jobs in Boston and NY and DC, I accepted a position out in San Francisco. I flew into San Diego, picked up my company car, and drove up Pacific Highway to begin my life. I stopped in LA, Malibu, Big Sur, Monterey, Carmel, and more. I was amazed by the beauty and how different the coast was on this side of the country. I was fascinated by the differences in the culture—within our own country—of the east and the west. And in time I realized, slowly to be sure, that being ready for the future didn’t have anything to do with nannies or prep school. Perspective.
I’ve moved several times since then, and never did make it back to live in New England, although we’ve visited more than a few times. Kids slowed travel a little, but not much. (Quitting my job certainly slowed it more!) In general, I’ve found that kids will rise to the occasion and expectations we have of them. My kids have been packed into cars and planes since they were tiny, and of course there were ISSUES at times, but nothing insurmountable. Nothing worth foregoing travel altogether.
A few years ago we took our boys to Great Britain for two weeks over Christmas. Before we left, a friend of mine was embroiled in a whole big social country-club-people-not-speaking-to-each-other mess. Let’s leave the fact that these are grown women for a minute, because that’s just a whole different topic. But what I remember, so distinctly, was being in this tiny little town in the Cotswold region of England and thinking about my friend and her troubles, and about how LITTLE it all matters. No matter how important or popular we are, there is whole world out there, with other important, popular people, who don’t give one hoot about our little corner of the world. Perspective.
Or, what about the time we took the older two boys (the only two, at the time) to San Francisco, where I truly did leave my heart fifteen long years ago. As I walked through my old neighborhood, holding my sweet five-year old’s hand, he looked up and said, “Mommy, San Francisco is much more cooler than Michigan.” Oh, so right you are, young one.
And later that same week, when we passed by the man living in the cardboard box, my five-year old was distraught, and we talked about it for days. We had the whole homeless and hurting and helping others discussion probably much earlier than we would have otherwise. But seven years later, he still remembers that man. He still thanks God for our house. Perspective.
And so when we planned our most recent trip, to Yellowstone, I expected it to be nice, yes, but I wasn’t prepared for the stunning beauty right out there in Wyoming. I’ve been to England, France, Italy, Greece, Switzerland, Germany, and so many more. I had more than fifteen address changes before college, and at least half as many afterwards. I love Connecticut in the fall, North Carolina in the spring, and California any time of year. But I didn’t have any perspective on Wyoming whatsoever.
Perspective.