Last night, I discovered a “Notice to Parents” in my son’s backpack. The note reminded parents that on Thursday, November 29, all 2nd graders would be going on a field trip to The Strathmore for the holiday concert. Each student needed to bring a packed lunch and dress appropriately for the event. The note mentioned that, in the past, girls have worn dresses and boys have worn button-up collared shirts and dress slacks.
I began to panic a bit. The lunch was not the problem. We had lots of goodies to pack. It was the dress slacks that were the problem.
My son has been growing like a weed this past fall. I buy him jeans, and in a few weeks they’re already too short! I had been meaning for the past few weeks to run to Target or The Children’s Place to buy him new khakis for the holidays, but I kept putting it off. There was never any pressing reason. Until yesterday!
I raced up to his room and after much searching, located a single pair of slacks that still fit. I was off the hook. I could postpone that trip to Target once again!
After he ate his breakfast this morning, we went upstairs, and I helped him get dressed. I turned to grab a collared shirt from his closet as he put on the slacks. I turned back to see a huge gaping hole in the knee of his pants!! I was crushed. I asked him to take them off, and I handed him a pair of clean Levi’s. He hesitated and said he can fix the hole with staples. I laughed and explained that it’s not the end of the world, and I’m sorry but he can’t wear pants with holes in them to The Strathmore. Clean jeans will have to do.
We finish with our morning routine and then head to the bus stop. There was a little girl in a pretty pink dress and coat in line and I asked her if she was in 2nd grade and going to the concert today. She sure was. Then from further ahead in line, one of the mothers asked me:
“Is Armando only in 1st grade?”
“No. He’s in 2nd.” I flash a big grin his way. I was worried where this was going.
The woman’s daughter chimes in, “Well, he’s supposed to wear a collared shirt.”
“He has one on. See.” I unzip his coat a bit at the top so the little girl could see.
“Oh, okay,” she says.
“But he’s also supposed to be wearing dress slacks,” spews the same woman, the mother of the little girl who asked about his shirt.
“Well, he’s wearing his clean jeans which will be fine. He doesn’t have any dress slacks,” I say looking at Armando to make sure she hadn’t crushed his entire day with her insensitive remark.
“I’ll just tell Ms. Shevitz (his teacher) that I didn’t forget; I just don’t have any. Right, Mom?” my son asks.
“Right, Baby,” I say and give him a kiss on the cheek.
The bus arrives, and I walk off to tell my husband about THAT woman!
After telling him the story, he says, “Wow! You’re losing your edge, Baby. Before yoga you would have punched that b&@#h in the face!”
I chuckle at his exaggeration. If this same encounter had happened a year ago (before yoga), I might have waited until the bus pulled away and told THAT woman how unnecessary her comment to my son was, especially in front of the other children at the bus stop. Today, the thought never crossed my mind.
I was surprised by my own patience and ability to “let go” of what she said and instead focus on remaining positive for my son.
I kept thinking about it today, too. Not because I am angry, but because I am dying to know how my son’s day was and if he enjoyed the music. I hope so.