Family Daze

Moms claim bragging rights on the first day in the park

By Debbie Farmer

The neighborhood park on the first day of spring was more crowded than the local sports bar on Super Bowl Sunday. Mothers enthusiastically aired out their children from the long winter indoors and eagerly tried to catch up with their neighbors' lives. I sat down next to a group of women who live on my block, and proudly watched my 2-year-old son play.

"This winter," one of the mothers said, "my daughter learned how to write the alphabet in cursive, count to 100 by fives, and recite the 50 states and their capitals to the tune of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star." She paused. "At this rate she'll be ready for kindergarten by the time she's 4."

I almost fell off the bench.

"Since my son joined the Future Presidents Pee-Wee Playgroup," another added, "he can tell time in five zones, say "magna cum laude" in six different languages and recite the Preamble to the Constitution in under two minutes."

I watched in dismay as my son ate a fistful of sand.

"If the school fundraiser goes well this year, they plan to take a field trip to the White House and tour the Ivy League colleges in the fall."

My thoughts were distracted by my son, who happily picked up a worm from the sand and held it toward me. "Snake!" he pointed proudly and smiled.

The women eyed me suspiciously.

"What preschool does your son attend?" one of the mothers asked.

"Well," I looked down. "I'm working with him at home."

They surrounded me like a pack of hungry wolves.

"Can he add and subtract?" they asked.

"We counted the peas I was taking out of his nose last night at dinner," I offered.

"What about science?" they continued. "You have, at least, discussed evolution and Darwin's theory of natural selection, haven't you?"

"I killed a spider in the backyard with my shoe and we carried it out to the garbage together," I said.

They shook their heads in dismay. "How will he qualify for the best kindergarten if doesn't get the best education now?"

I hung my head in shame and began to gather my son's toys and blanket. All the love and attention I showered on him would do nothing to ensure his future, I thought sadly, watching him climb on the bars.

I was distracted by a flurry of sand and a small boy crying and running toward his mother on the other side of the play area. The rest of the children on the ground continued wrestling and throwing sand.

"Stop throwing sand!" the mothers around me yelled to their children.

"He's a cry baby!" they shouted and pointed to the boy sobbing in his mother's arms.

I silently watched my son climb down the bars and walk toward the crying boy. "OK?" he asked, and gently reached up and patted the boy's back. Then he reached into his pocket and held out the worm.

I walked slowly toward my son with my head held high. I took his small hand in mine and guided him to the gate.

"Let's go home for lunch," I whispered into his ear. I felt like the proudest mother of all and we left the park without looking back.

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Debbie Farmer can be contacted at debbie@ecis.com.

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