Our ‘Hood « Life Behind the Curve

Oct 16 2011

Elementary School, Facebook, Family, Just for Fun, Lemons, Me, Myself and I, My Boys, Our 'Hood, Parenting, Sports

There Is No “I” in Fan

I can’t stand fickle sports fans. Ironically, I frequently have one in DJ. He doesn’t mean to be one, he just doesn’t know any better. He feels emotionally drawn to many geographies so I was super proud of his response when, on the way to the Sacramento Mountain Lions v. Virginia Destroyers game yesterday, I asked him who he’d root for. “Virginia,” he said. “Why, because daddy played with their quarterback and was coached by their coaches when he was in college?” I asked. “No,” he replied, “because that’s where I’m from.”

This conversation about which ‘hood he claims goes back a few weeks when he inquisitively asked which rappers were from Virginia as he failed to connect with 2Pac and Dr. Dre’s “California Love” the way his parents do. He moved from the Commonwealth to California when he was just three and, while he’s as much of a Cali boy and the next kid in my mind, he feels drawn to the place he was born.

It’s a feeling I understand well as I moved away from the state of my birth as a toddler and then, again, moved in the middle of elementary school to California. In the years since I’ve tried to figure out what I consider to be my “hometown.” (Imagine the angst when Facebook asked me to make such a public declaration.)

For me, my “hometown” claim as a sports fan was complicated by the fact that, just two months after I moved to the San Francisco Bay Area, the SF Giants met the St. Louis Cardinals in the National League Championship Series. I was raised on Cardinals baseball (and football, by the way…why they’re in Phoenix and the L.A. Rams are in my town still baffles me). My earliest baseball memory was being allowed, at a month shy of four years old, to stay up to watch the Cardinals win the 1982 World Series at our townhouse in the St. Louis suburbs. (It’s also the first time I remember my mom being mad at my dad. Heh.)

In the years between then and our move west, my dad took me to Busch Stadium to see the likes of Ozzie Smith and Willie McGee while teaching me how to score a baseball game and heckle an opponent. My pet mouse was named Whitey Herzog.

When the Cards played the Giants, I wasn’t sure just who to root for as the new kid trying to fit in with a school full of Giants fans. Luckily I had little to do with the fate of either team. Yet somehow, I gave myself the leeway to root for the triumphant Cards as they faced the Twins in that World Series, the Oakland A’s as they faced the Dodgers the following year, and then the Giants as they met the A’s in ’89 in the Bay Bridge Series (a series memorable not only for baseball but the earthquake that literally rocked the local fans to our core).

And so, as it has been since, I rooted for the Giants as they made their way to the World Series last year. Now that they’ve imploded, however, I will admit that I “liked” the breaking news from CNN on my FB News Feed that the Cards, my first baseball love, had made it to the World Series (a “like” I gave despite not being able to name a single player from their team.) How’s that for fickle?

But it’s hard out there for a kid…a kid who, for a third of a century, has felt disconnected from all geographic ties of her own. And it is with that experience that I try to cut my own child, a kid who likes the SF 49ers and the Miami Heat, the Sacramento Kings and the Stanford Cardinal, the Scarlet Knights of Rutgers and…the Virginia Destroyers, a bit of a break as he tries to figure out his own definition of “hometown” and which hometown team belongs to him.

Aug 27 2010

10 Comments

Elementary School, Family, Friends, Me, Myself and I, My Boys, Our 'Hood, Parenting, RIP

PSA: Look Right

One day when I was in 8th grade, I returned home from my afterschool activities to tragic news. A 6th grader at my school had been killed riding her bike home earlier that afternoon.

I walked across my quiet residential street, to the place where she died – less than a block from her house. I looked at the makeshift shrine that was beginning to build. Her blood stained the street.

She had been riding her bike in the bike lane but she was going against traffic. According to reports, the driver who struck her had pulled up to a sleepy intersection and stopped at the stop sign. She looked to her left and, seeing no cars coming her way, she turned right. Right into that young girl. She wasn’t driving fast. She wasn’t drunk. She just made a simple, but deadly, mistake.

It was an accident. A tragic accident.

Every morning, I pull out of my driveway with my own precious cargo in tow. I see the children in our neighborhood walking and biking down our street to school. I creep to the end of my street and stop. I look left. I see no cars coming.

And then I look right. I imagine what it must have been like for that poor girl in the last moment of her life. I imagine what it must have been like for her friend who had split off from her just a block earlier and who, years later, told me she heard her friend scream but didn’t realize until later what exactly it was that she was hearing. I imagine what it must have been like for the girl’s mom who, I heard, was so heartbroken she moved away from the home they had once shared.

When you come up to an intersection. Please stop. Fully. Please look to both your left and your right. Please do your part to prevent something like this from happening to another family.

Aug 24 2010

6 Comments

Elementary School, Family, Me, Myself and I, My Boys, Our 'Hood, Parenting, Vacation, Work

I’ve Felt the Calm of A Satisfied Soul

It’s been a busy week around these here parts. First week of school and all. Here are some of the things that have satisfied my soul of late:

Sometimes not having all the answers really sucks.
Talking about death and dying with kids is never fun. Especially when it feels like it may be close. Or far. Or…who knows. But it’s important to talk about it nonetheless.
There’s a lot of great things that come with being a parent but one of the greatest is when your kids show absolutely no resemblance to you. See also: Five nights away from home with no homesickness and no fear of waterslides.
“No resemblance” corollary: When it takes 31 years and one kid who asks to get on a waterslide? And enjoy it? Awesome.
Waterslide corollary: Going on a family date to a place you and your husband have never been even though you’ve known each other forever? Also awesome.
There is little more liberating to a woman than to walk around in a bathing suit in public without caring about what others might think.
Ends up, this confidence despite evidence to the contrary thing is genetic.
See also: A six-year-old who doesn’t really think he needs to go by his new classroom to meet his teacher until the first day of school because really, mom, it’s not much different from last year.
Mom feels better when you make him go anyway.
It appears as though each added year of dropping my oldest off on the first day of school allows me to get a little further away from the building before breaking down into complete tears.
Having the youngest beg to go to kindergarten doesn’t help. Nor does knowing you’re planning on holding him back for another year when you’re pretty sure he’d be just fine if he went on time.
That knot in your throat when your kid says he can get to his classroom all by himself isn’t because you’re concerned he can’t. It’s because you know he can.
No matter how hard I try, I always say too much when I’m nervous.
Traditions matter. Especially those like taking the day before the first day of school off and working from home on the first day so you can be there when the bell rings. If there was a single piece of advice I could give working parents new to the whole school thing it’d be to warn them that EVERY. OTHER. PARENT. will be there to pick up their kids’ on the first day. If you’re not, your kid will, in fact, be the only one whose parent isn’t.
MMS picture spam may or may not be appropriate when you don’t post pictures of your kids online. But if you got a “Happy 1st day of School” text from me and didn’t want one, please feel free to let me know. I swear I only sent it to people I thought would appreciate it. And if I thought you would, and you didn’t, I’m so sorry. I guess, I don’t know, maybe we need to go to relationship counseling or something, because we obviously aren’t on the same page. HA!
Whether at soccer practice, a birthday party or a parent meeting, the following this are assured to happen: A parent will tell you more about them and their marriage than you ever want to know, a parent will make it clear their kid is above yours, a parent will make it clear their kids is below yours, a parent will disappear and you’ll judge them for not being involved, you’ll need to run somewhere and be judged for not being involved, and a whole bunch of other things. It’s important to remember that as much as you love/hate a certain parent, there are other parents that love/hate you. Oh well. It happens.
Every woman needs a few good girlfriends.
There is a great joy that comes with finding out that you’ve found yours.

Nov 05 2009

1 Comment

Family, Friends, Me, Myself and I, My Boys, Our 'Hood, Parenting, Work

An Open Letter to Patience

Dear Patience,

I miss you. No, truly, I do. I miss the warmth of your long held embrace. The calm that you exude when you’re around. The rational thoughts you put into my mind. I miss you more than you know.

I have respected you for a long time, looked up to you. I have tried to walk your walk. “Good things come to those who wait,” I say to myself and others with frequency. I have long been a fan of the tortoise. “Slow and steady wins the race.” I know your value.

But Bop, Patience. He’s killing me. I know it’s a phase. I know I let D go through the same I-can’t-possibly-live-without-my-mommy-so-I-must-cry-whenever-she-wants-to-leave-me-because-my-world-will-end-without-her phase. I know he deserves you. But, Patience, I feel like you’re pushing me away with a brute force I haven’t felt in a while.

And he’s not the only one testing our relationship. D, dude. D is giving you a run for your money too. He is awesome at night when both Scoot and I are around. But in the mornings… Gah! It’s like he knows you’re at your rarest and yet still tries to find you somewhere within me by pushing every possible button I have. Unfortunately for us all, he fails as you so often seem to have deserted me.

There are other ways you’re testing me, Patience. Many, many other ways: at work, at home, in my family, with my friends, in my community, even the dogs are working my last nerve. Sometimes I feel like others are so intent on proving that you and I are, in fact, not on speaking terms that they do whatever they can to drive us apart.

I can’t live this way, Patience. I mean, come on, your name graces the title of one of my favorite songs of all time. I need you. Yeah, Yeah, I need you. Oooo I need you. Oh, sorry…got a little carried away there.

One of my favorite (Swedish, BTW) proverbs says, “Those who wish to sing always find a song.” I hope that’s true, Patience. Because I miss you. I want to sing your song. I must find it. I have to.

Come back to me, Patience. Please.

Love,

EmmieJ

Apr 22 2009

My Kids Are 5 and 2 But I’ve Got Empty Nest Syndrome Already

Friday night last week, our 6 month old puppy Mater was in the backyard acting weird. I saw him looking up at one of our trees going ape shit. He actually tried to climb a 6 foot tall wood fence to get closer. Because we live in a new neighborhood with new trees, we have no normal suburban wildlife (like squirrels) so I didn’t really think much about it and went on with my evening.

Three of the chicks on Sunday morning.

The next (beautiful!) day, we spent the entire day doing yardwork. As I was cleaning up the back corner of the yard, I remembered Mater’s behavior and decided to take a look. Sure enough, right at eye level there was a nest with two little baby birds looking at me with their beaks wide open. I stared for a few minutes and then realized that their mom and dad were in my neighbor’s tree watching me and those chicks looked hungry, so I left.

I know absolutely nothing about birds. (I think they may be Western Meadowlarks or Lesser Goldfinches but I could be wrong.) But, man, their behavior was so interesting to me. All weekend I was drawn to this little bird family. It ends up there were not two but four. And they were growing by the day!

It’s no surprise, really, because that mommy and daddy bird were busy! Their routine was something like this: Mom & Dad (making assumptions here…since I know nothing about birds I’m assuming they are in a heterosexual relationship…no clue if that’s right) fly into the area together and make a few circles around the tree where the nest is. They’re checking out the territory and making sure everything is ok. They’re very vocal. One (I like to say Mom but I really don’t know) swoops into the tree to a chorus of baby chirps while Dad hangs out in a high location nearby, presumably keeping watch. Then once Mom is done, they switch places and Dad feeds the babies. The chicks are instantly calmed and Mom and Dad fly away noisily. The chicks curl up together and take a nap and the cycle starts all over again.

D, our 5 year old, witnessed this routine as well and he had a lot of questions and since he still believes that I know everything I narrated the show to the best of my abilities. What was so remarkable, to both of us, really, was how familiar this pattern of parent/child behavior was. Now, if I’m remembering the one day I didn’t cut freshman year biology correctly, the feeding is done when the Mom and Dad regurgitate whatever they found on their hunting expedition for the babies to eat. I’ve never done that, though I did chew food for my kids a few times when they were just starting to eat solids. I’m also pretty sure that if I had left my kids all by themselves in their cribs when they were days old, CPS would have been over to visit with a quickness. But all-in-all observing their behavior was yet another reminder of how natural parenting is for many animals, humans included.

The Mom and Dad on the top of our neighbhor's tree, waiting to feed their babies.

It reminded me of an incident that happened the summer before we moved from DC to California, when I was about 7 months pregnant with B. We had a little townhouse with a little yard and in it we had a blue tarp. We went to clean up the yard before we put the house on the market and realized a mouse (or rat?) had made the tarp its home. We scared it away but realized a few minutes later that there was an entire litter of rodents left behind. I called the local animal services people and the woman on the phone said, “Rodents are mammals. Mammal mothers don’t abandon their babies. She’ll be back.” I burst into tears. The sappy, can’t explain to your husband when he asks what’s wrong kind. (Hey, I was pregnant. I blame it on the hormones.)

My point is that motherhood, parenthood, is not just about procreation. It’s about so much more than that, for wild animals and humans alike. It’s about the things that Mom and Dad bird did to put food in their kids’ bellies. It’s about the pain that we feel when our kids are hurting. The sacrifices we make to keep a roof over their head (or a nest under their bum, as the case may be). And the heartbreak we go through when something goes terribly wrong.

I was so drawn to those four chicks over the past four days that my heart broke a little when I came home this evening and the nest was empty. Of course, D and I celebrated that they had grown up and moved away, lest I discourage him from doing the same thing some day. I just hope they come back to visit and know that when they do, they’ll find their bedroom just as they left it.

Feb 26 2009

2 Comments

Elementary School, Our 'Hood, Parenting, Race

Welcome Class of 2022

The sign outside the door to the multipurpose room reads, “Welcome Class of 2022.”

I walk into the room, which serves as a cafeteria, gym and auditorium. I find the end of the line and begin waiting. And watching.

This is my first introduction to my son’s future friends’ parents. Which ones will invite him to birthday parties? Will any of them move away, taking my son’s best friend along? Who will I commiserate with when my son gets placed in the bitchy teacher’s class? Which one will be the chaperone who breaks up my son dancing a little too close to his first girlfriend? Which one will buy their kids beer when they’re in high school? Is his future mother- or father-in-law in this room?

I alternate between Tweeting how bored I am in line, answering work emails, and sending updates to Scoot on my progress and the fact I’m afraid I’ll miss the vet appointment I scheduled for three o’clock. And I keep watching.

Overall I’d say the room is about 50 percent white and 50 percent non-white. Of the latter, Asians represent the biggest share but it looks like there is a lot of diversity among them as well: definitely Chinese and Vietnamese and I think Japanese and Korean too. There are a handful of Hispanics, one black man, and at least one Indian couple. I don’t take this informal “census” of the racial diversity of our neighborhood too literally because I, of all people, know that the race of a mother is not necessarily correlated with the race of the father and it was mostly mothers in the room.

As the white mother of two beautifully, if not darkly, complected multiracial boys (I like to think of them not as mocha- or caramel-colored but rather as latte-colored), I’m keenly aware of the lessons they learn by who we choose to have in our lives.

Some of those choices have been made for us. Scoot’s dad is black with French and Native American blood just a couple generations back. His mom is the daughter of Chinese immigrants, both of whom had been in the U.S. since they were young children. My family, Americans for no fewer than five generations, have come pretty much exclusively from northern Europe. Our combined family includes Catholics, Jews, Methodists, Mormons and atheists. It includes blacks, whites, Chinese and a Jordanian. And not just that, but it includes the offspring of nearly every permutation and combination of these races and religions.

But we have made choices to expose them to diversity outside of our own family as well. We put them in daycare centers in downtown Washington, DC and downtown Sacramento in part so they’d be going to school with kids from different social, racial and economic backgrounds. The diversity we saw at the sales centers of the new homes and the fact that this master planned community has a broad array of housing options, including apartments and townhouses up to single family homes over 4,000 square feet helped draw us to this area.

I make these choices because I believe that people who don’t look like me, or act like me, or pray like me or make money like me offer different and interesting views of the world and remind me that we all need humility, understanding and selflessness. I want these to be qualities my children value and reflect. I don’t want them to be color blind. (I could write a post or two about why I don’t dig that concept.) I want them to cherish the opportunity to learn about and from people who are different from them. And I want them to be so used to doing it that they’re never uncomfortable in a room of people who don’t look like them.

And now, I stand in the room waiting to register my first born son for kindergarten and I can’t help but smile.

I smile because this room looks a lot like any of our family gatherings. I smile because it appears as though my son’s school will reinforce what we teach at home: that differences should bring us together, not drive us apart. And I smile because, regardless of our racial, social or economic differences, we all have one thing in common: we love and care for children who together will be the class of 2022.

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