For nearly five years now, I have been studying in the hard-knocks school of parenting.
I’ve learned some things: Never wear a white shirt. Don’t say anything you don’t want your child to repeat during story time. Keep extra pants in the car. Do not assume your child wants to hug the Chick-fil-A cow.
But the most valuable lesson I’ve picked up is that the business of child-raising is one in constant change. And a recent jaunt to the park taught me something else: Ego doesn’t stand a chance.
A trip to the park for my daughter, Addie, and me has always centered on the two of us playing together. We run, swing, roll in the grass when possible and, most of all, we laugh.
Perhaps I had grown a little cocky, smug in the knowledge that I was my daughter’s playmate of choice.
The weather has been glorious for January. So, when Addie and I stepped out of the car and set foot on the playground one day, I was ready for action. I had already downed a coffee and had my running shoes on.
It was as it always had been, for a few minutes anyway.
We were just getting into a rousing game of something when a mini-van pulled up and several kids descended upon the playground, among them a darling, pig-tailed girl of Addie’s age.
Addie and the girl stared at one another for a few seconds.
“Hi,” the pig-tailed girl said. “My name is Cooper.”
Addie didn’t hesitate.
“Hi, I’m Addie. Want to play?”
And they did.
There was nothing for me to do but stuff my hands in my pockets and fall back to the sidelines.
I watched my girl and her new friend flit about the playground, running hand in hand. There was giggling and much talk about princesses, fairies and, I believe, chocolate cakes.
I exchanged pleasantries with Cooper’s mother and grandmother, but mostly I just watched Addie. She was wildly happy, cheeks flushed and completely oblivious to my presence. I had never seen her look so old. Or so young.
I am convinced that there is no colder spot than a park bench in January. The day that had previously seemed to hint at the promise of spring suddenly chilled me to the bone. But there I sat, not about to cut my daughter’s fun short. The girls ran past me several times, and only once did my daughter glance in my direction. It was to smile and breathlessly exclaim, “Mommy, I made a friend!”
And so she had.
I zipped my jacket all the way up to my chin, for the temperature was really dropping. But the girls played on, and I decided to embrace waiting. Then, just like that, Cooper had to go. The girls parted with a hug and a wave, and then it was just Addie and me. She shrugged and said, “Oh well, I guess I’ll play with you now, Mommy.”
That was all right by me. I played like I had never played before.
So I was put in my place, and I’m smart enough to know that it will happen again. It isn’t that bad really, sitting there watching my daughter play with someone who isn’t me. She’s happy. And I’m an optimist –– I don’t look at being benched as a bad thing. I’m just waiting on a friend.
Judy Caldwell-Midero lives in Jamestown. Contact her at jcmidero@gmail.com.
