First Grade

First grade starts next week. And although this next milestone carries with it virtually none of the angst that attended the start of kindergarten, I nevertheless find that I am not looking forward to it.

I really like having Lucy at home. I like talking to her, I like watching what she's doing, I like it that she can spend the morning reading books in her pajamas if she wants to. Even when I wish she would leave me alone for a few minutes, I like having her around. And when she's in school, it seems like she's never really here. She's getting ready for school, then she's at school, then she's getting back from school. Then it's dinner time and bath time and bed time, and then she's getting ready for school again. There are weekends, of course, and vacations, and the 3:00 - 6:00 window every day, but still, the schedule really revolves around school.


Much like last year, however, I can't help but notice that she is very excited. She can't wait to meet her new teacher, see her friends, learn new stuff. Not be the littlest anymore. And this is good, that she is excited. Being away from us all day doesn't seem to bother her in the least. I guess that means I'm doing my job.

I'll miss her, though.

The Last Day

She pulls on her shoes
and heads off to the last day.
To her, no big deal.

T Plus 177

The school year is 180 days long, and we have three more to go. What have we learned?

Well, Lucy has learned to read and write, of course, and add and subtract, and identify Maryland on a map of the United States. Also to eat lunch in under 20 minutes, respond to what seems to me a complex series of clapping signals, and pledge questionable allegiance to a piece of colorful fabric. It could be worse.

But what have we learned really? To be apart, I guess. That she can go off without me, survive, and come back to tell me about it. That she’s not fragile after all. To let her work out her own relationships. That she loves to learn (well, I knew that) and will do it even in settings that are not what I would consider ideal. To provide at home the things that are missing in school, and to recognize that school provides some things that are missing at home. That being around people who think differently than we do is good for her. To let her have her own ideas about things, even when they’re different from mine, but to make sure she understands why I think what I do. To skip school sometimes.

That she is still my little girl.

That she is growing up.

Hillary

Let me make it clear that I am not a Hillary Clinton supporter. I’m not a rabid opponent, like some, and in fact in the unlikely event that she gets the nomination I will probably end up campaigning for her. But she’s not my first choice. Or really even my second choice.

But one day last week, Lucy came home from school breathless with excitement.

Lucy: Mommy! Guess what!

Me: What??

Lucy: There’s going to be a girl president!

Me: Uh…

Lucy: She’s trying to get yeleted right now!

Me: Right! That’s right. A woman is trying to get elected president.

Lucy: Oooh, I hope she gets yeleted!

Me: Why?

Lucy: Because that would be so cool, to have a girl president!

As a matter of fact, this is my sentiment exactly. It would be so cool to have a girl president! Just not, you know, this girl president. I guess I thought that we’d come far enough that I didn’t have to support her just because she’s a girl (er, woman). But Lucy’s reaction to the possibility of a female in the White House makes me question that belief, because my gut-twisting realization is that having a “girl” president is a big deal to Lucy.

How does she know that this matters? Sure, she knows about the presidency, and she’s understood for quite some time that voting is important. But this level of excitement on her part is usually reserved for things of monumental importance, like a trip to the ice cream stand or permission to stay up past bedtime. How can she possibly have internalized the underrepresentation of women in politics so completely in a mere six years? And what does this mean for me, her unabashedly feminist mother? Do I have to start supporting female candidates based solely on their gender just so that there are more role models for my daughter?

No, of course not. But this is a reality check for me. Maybe we haven’t come as far as I thought.

Guns

This morning in the garden:

Ben: [picking up a large stick] This is my gun, Mommy.

Me: [alarmed but trying not to show it] Oh?

Ben: Yeah. I’m going to shoot mean people.

Me: I don’t think you should shoot people, even if they’re mean.

Ben: Why not?

Me: Well, it hurts them. It might even kill them.

Ben: [reassuringly] Oh, I’ll only shoot the mean people.

Me: Maybe you could call the police and they could take the mean people to jail.

Ben: Yeah!

Phew.

Ben: And after they take them to jail, I’ll shoot them.

Oh.

Me: Who are the mean people?

Ben: You know, bank robbers.

Well, at least he’s not thinking of someone we know.

Although there is very little hard research on how gun play affects children (at least according to my cursory search), there is no question that many, perhaps most, children go through a stage in which they are fascinated by guns and fighting. Looked at positively, they are learning about aggression and conflict in a safe, non-threatening way. Looked at even more positively, they are acting out fantasies of being a hero, protecting other people, getting the bad guys. Looked at that way, gun play is not so much about hurting someone as it is about protecting someone. Looked at less positively, guns are dangerous and I don’t want my son going around shooting people, real or imaginary.

And there’s the real issue: when Ben pretends that his stick is a gun, to me it’s about the gun, which is dangerous and can kill people. To Ben it’s about the mean people, and he’s going to protect me from them.

I guess he’s thinking of someone we know after all.