mollyzwinters There’s a wooden sign on the wall of my office that blends into everyday life. You know what I mean — the hustle and bustle of a family household with work, after-school activities, and family commitments to juggle.
But sometimes, something will happen that reminds me to look up at the message I chose to have custom painted onto reclaimed wood in the space I spend the most time each day.
Here’s a story that reminds me of a simple, yet incredibly important message.
A few years ago, my daughter was on a first-grade all-girls soccer team. Most of the other girls went to her school, but a few didn’t, and I remember one petite girl with glasses and fuzzy cat ears who joined as an outsider.
The team, however, was full of great kids. Welcoming kids. The kind of kids you’re like, dang, that’s how first graders are supposed to treat each other.
One freezing cold day in October, sitting in a camp chair alongside the short soccer field with the other dedicated parents, I struck up a conversation with the mom next to me, whom I’d never met.
Turns out, she was the mom of the adorable cat-ears player, and she began telling me about the trouble her daughter was having at her school.
“She gets bullied,” the mom told me, “and the school doesn’t seem to do much about it.”
Heartbreaking, right? In first-freakin’-grade, kids are getting bullied.
She began asking me about Annie’s school — the one most of the kind, silly, warmhearted girls on the team went to.
And so I told her about it.
Though the school’s not much to look at, (it was built in the 70’s, when architecture and society somehow decided children shouldn’t look out windows, or they’d be too distracted to learn. My husband’s an architect and designs schools, so I can say that.) the people inside are amazing.
The teachers, staff, administration, volunteers — everyone — makes this school an incredible, supportive, and inspiring community.
No fancy bells or whistles — just good, solid, PEOPLE.
As it turns out, the family lived in a neighborhood nearby but had applied to join one of our town’s magnet schools (aka specialty, selective school). The magnet schools in our area are supposed to be shining stars — guiding lights to bigger and brighter futures.
And, of course, sometimes they are.
We talked quite a bit along the sidelines of that single soccer game, and the dad chimed in, too. It was a great conversation, and I truly felt for them. They faced one of those difficult choices we all face as parents at one time or another.
Years passed, and I heard from my daughter that Josie did end up switching schools. They’d become friends, and she was besties with several other girls outside the soccer team. It sounded like she was doing well.
And tonight, four years after that freezing cold soccer game, I drove a carload of 5th-grade girls to the elementary school for a movie night in the cafeteria. As we rounded the curve into the school parking lot, they all shouted, “There’s Josie!!!” and begged me to pull over.
Josie was walking along with her dad and sister, and when the window rolled down and her name was screamed out, she beamed and hustled over to say hello.
“Are you going to the movie night?!” my daughter and her friends shrieked.
“No, I don’t think so. We’re heading home,” she told them, but she still wore a huge smile and was jumping up and down with excitement of seeing her friends unexpectedly outside of school hours.
“Awwww,” the carload exclaimed in unison, “you should come!”
Headlights shone into my rearview mirror as a car pulled into the parking lot behind me, and I told the girls we had to continue and it was time to say goodbye.
Over their heads, I could see that it wasn’t just Josie who was smiling, but her dad (who was hanging back and letting 5th-grade girls be 5th-grade girls) was beaming as well.
In that twelve-second interaction, I knew the family had made the right decision. And I knew that they felt like they’d made the right decision.
There’s something to be said for finding where you belong.
Finding people who accept you.
And finding that feeling of community that just feels easy.
But, it’s seemingly becoming harder to find. Or maybe I’m just jaded as I get older.
It feels like we’re so much more disconnected — drifting and aimless, without a true direction.
It’s like we’ve lost our true north.
Things that used to seem so obvious, like kindness and warmth, eye-contact when speaking to someone, a friendly greeting of ‘hello’ to a stranger, have become eccentricities. (Read: I’m that Mom who will continue embarrassing her children by saying hello to strangers.)
Because honestly, if we don’t have human connection, if we don’t have first-graders who know how to be kind or adults who know how to stick up for them when they’re not, what the heck DO we have?
If you’ve made it this far into my ramble, don’t be too discouraged. Though I may be approaching my mid-forties (cue ‘the world’s going to hell in a handbasket!’ years), I’m determined to remain an optimist.
Do you know why?
Because I rode with that carload of fifth-grade girls — and they’re AWESOME.
They’re kind.
They’re warm.
They’re friendly.
And they’re our future.
There will always be bullies, and there will always be cat-eared friends. So when you get discouraged, do your best to look up, make eye contact with a stranger, and find a way back to a feeling of community.
It’s out there, we just have to keep looking.
Oh? And that wooden sign on my wall? Here’s what it says, just in case you need the reminder sometimes, too.
