B-Rant

- submitted by J.Burt on 05/15/2008

Why I Dread Pick-Up Time at School

By Jacqueline Burt

I dread pick-up time at my daughter Charlotte's Catholic elementary school.

You'd think I would have it down by now. I grew up in this town, attended a school much like this one, spent the bulk of my formative years wearing the same scratchy maroon plaid jumper that Charlotte grudgingly dons every morning. But I didn't fit in then, and I don't today.

Then, I was one of the only kids at my school with a single mom; now, I'm one of the only single moms at my daughter's school. Then, my Laura Ingalls-esque hairdo stood out in a sea of feathered bangs as proof of my ex-hippie mother's alternative aesthetic; now, my carelessly finger-combed mop stands out in an ocean of perfect blow-outs as evidence of my comparatively laid-back (okay, lazy) style.

One thing I had in common with my classmates was race; now, my half-Korean children are among the only contributors to "diversity" in a student body made up mostly of fourth-generation Italian- and Irish-Americans.

When I was a kid, my mother's patched-up, second-hand Plymouth in the school parking lot gave away our economic status; today, the fact that I drive a leased Saturn sedan instead of a BMW SUV suggests that our family does not fit the typical Fairfield County, Connecticut, financial mold.

It's not that I truly believe surface differences like these mean anything. I'm sure that, underneath, I have more in common with the coiffed, conventional members of the Home School Association than I think. Still, it makes me wonder: What did growing up on the fringes of suburbia teach me about who I am -- and what will it teach my kids?

They call the first-grade parents to the front of the group, and I watch as my daughter's class streams out of the building. Charlotte is one of the first kids through the doors; as usual, her face is anxious as she looks for me.

"Charlotte!" I yell, waving, and her expression immediately relaxes into a broad smile. She loves school -- or so she tells me, and she's not one to censor her opinions for my sake -- but seeing her furrowed little brow searching the crowd of moms always breaks my heart.

On the days when I'm running a minute or two late, and she doesn't spot my unkempt, hole-y jeaned self right away, does that sense of not-quite-belonging begin to sink in? Then again, maybe it's my presence that distinguishes her as different.

Before her hand slips into mine, she's just another student in a uniform. I guess it all depends on which grown-ups her burgeoning self identifies with. I shouldn't assume that, just because she's my daughter, Charlotte will grow up -- as I did -- one of the few artsy/drama club/newspaper staff-types in a jock/cheerleader dominated educational setting. Maybe she'll be a track star. Maybe she'll start tying cardigan sweaters around her shoulders. Maybe she'll major in finance. If that turns out to be the case, maybe having a "weird" writer mom like me to reverse-rebel against will only serve to strengthen her case for conservatism (for lack of a better word).

Or what if her apple doesn't end up so far from my tree? I fantasize about what an inspiring, validating childhood Charlotte might have had if we still lived in the liberal, multi-culti Brooklyn neighborhood where she attended preschool and kindergarten, the place we moved away from to be closer to my family when my ex and I split up. At our public Pre-K, when Charlotte decided she'd rather be known as "Molly" (in honor of her favorite American Girl), her teacher - who sang in a rock band on weekends - encouraged her to sign her name as such. When her friend Olive felt like wearing a long blonde princess wig to kindergarten, she was allowed to do so.

The rainbow of kids on the playground looked like they'd been chosen by the casting director for Sesame Street; the local parenting credo favored self-expression over self-discipline. Families of every stripe, whether led by a mom and dad, one mom, two dads, a grandma, whatever - were accepted.

Here in Connecticut, Charlotte (and my two-year-old son Julian, still blissfully ignorant of such issues) will have to carve out a niche for themselves, to seek out peers who share the same interests and values. Appreciation of their individual quirks and eccentricities won't come as easily as it might have in NYC. And that might hurt, sometimes.

But then I think: Having to work at becoming who you are, to really have to search for your place in this world...well, that's not such a bad thing. I mean, talk about character-building opportunities -- not to mention the bonds that can form between those who share an "outsider" status.

My two closest friendships, both of which have lasted over 20 years, were forged in the fires of suburban Catholic school. We were in the fifth grade when we met. Allison and I were both the new girls in class; Jackie was a loner whose only pal had recently moved away. Strikes against us included our hair color (not blonde) and our backgrounds (I came from a "broken" home, Allison had an adopted sister, Jackie's family was from Canada).

After our initial playground connection -- I think we were the only girls not asked to play Capture the Flag -- the three of us clung to each other with a desperate loyalty, one that grew into a sincere devotion that's lasted us through the horrors of high school, college heartbreaks, career missteps, failed marriages and more. Would we have made such a deep commitment to each other if the "popular" girls, the ones with all the right clothes and cars and families, had welcomed us with open arms? Maybe. But if going back to find out meant risking the relationships I have with Allison and Jackie today, I wouldn't even consider it. My friendships with them taught me everything, most importantly, who I am.

So I watch as Charlotte hugs her best friend -- a sweet-faced, precociously considerate girl -- good-bye, and I cross my fingers and remind myself: Ultimately, it's not "fitting in" that matters, it's finding friends who fit.

Jacqueline Burt is a freelance journalist living in Connecticut who frequently contributes to the New York Post, Parents, and other publications. She is currently working on a memoir.
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• Get it off your chest

popular girls

- submitted by Anonymous on 05/15/2008

I find that my daughter is not at all the nerdy, eccentric, self-conscious reject that I was in school. On the contrary, she is self-confident, social and wears all the right clothes, without being mean or plastic. Where did she learn this? I have no idea. But I'm happy to see it. It's amazing how much they are themselves, no matter who you are!

takes me back

- submitted by caitlin on 05/15/2008

It's not just having obvious differences that can make you feel like a nerdy kid again at school pick-up. I just feel conscious of the cliques of moms chatting away and wonder why i just don't quite fit in. just proximity to a school can make us feel like 8 year olds again! Nice article.

Thanks

- submitted by Anonymous on 05/15/2008

I was the girl with ugly glasses whose mother made all her clothes. When I got to high school I became part of the "radical intellectuals" - at least that's what we called ourselves. We thought we were way cool when in fact we were probably pretty stupid. My kids seem the opposite: one is oblivious of everyone else and the other is incredibly popular with no effort on her part. Go figure!

Beautiful piece. Think is

- submitted by LTelden on 05/15/2008

Beautiful piece. Think is expresses well how perceived differences can shape so many things. Sometimes reactions to who we are are more about our own presumptions, sometimes wrong. But I understand what the author is saying and I empathize. I'm one of the few Jews in a predominantly Catholic town where on the surface there is tolerance and good will but underneath sometimes I'm not so sure. But then, like I said, maybe I'm just projecting, wrongly presuming.

Enjoyed this, thank you.

- submitted by Anonymous on 05/15/2008

Enjoyed this, thank you.

I used to worry about people

- submitted by Renley on 05/16/2008

I used to worry about people judging me because i didn't fit in. I assumed they didn't like my casual dress or other things. I later learned they found me distant and thought I was the one rejecting them. It's hard but a lot of times we use preconceptions or insecurities to dictate how we behave. A few of the poeple I'd thought were awful are now my closest friends. I gave them a chance.

fitting in

- submitted by Mulligan on 05/17/2008

I feel badly for my son, as he enters into high school this year. He is not at all the child that I expected when the Dr. told me it was a boy (although I never expected to love him as fiercely as I do). I thought I would have the jock, the preppy dresser, the short hair and the smart one. I got one out of four. My son is the smart one but he's also sensitive, comes from the right brain, dresses like a "skater" and uses more hair product then I do.He's also charming, well-mannered, kind-hearted and still likes to do things with his mom, at 14! I am grateful beyond grateful for what he is but, I have to admit, I still long for the preppy, popular, jock. However, none of that is why I feel badly for him. I feel badly because he will always have "the mom that doesnt fit in." For starters, I am gay. Secondly, I have no fashion sense and little knowledge of how to find some. I'm somewhat petite and dont fit a gay stereotype, as far as looks are concerned, but will that make it easier for my son to accept me amongst his peers? There is no father, as I was artificially inseminated. Next year my boy goes to public high school and I feel for him. High school is hard enough and now he has to deal with "the mom that doesnt fit" He says it doesnt matter. My kind-hearted boy doesnt even know...

Stereotyping While Denouncing Stereotyping

- submitted by CJ on 05/17/2008

The message here: The Catholic school is not “liberal, multi-culti” enough. (Read: Too white and conservative.) Plus, it’s, Catholic, and you know THOSE people.

People will judge the very obvious life decisions we make. Including the decision to divorce. It’s only human. Most single moms were not forced into the circumstance, they chose it. Sometimes it’s the right decision, sometimes not. In any case, the kids are affected. You can’t fault people for acknowledging reality.

It’s no excuse to be rude or to lack compassion. But it’s a little too convenient to blame any discomfort you’ve felt you’re entire life on other people, particularly those dang ‘white conservatives.’

KIds can adjust a lot more

- submitted by Formershrink on 05/18/2008

KIds can adjust a lot more than we think. Sometimes we presume too much, like that our kids suffer from the same insecurities we do. It's not always that way. My son is so much more balance than I am I sometimes wonder how he got that way. Life has challenges and you can't shield your kids from most of them. Kids are always going to feel sometimes they don't fit in. As parents we can offer support and guideance but ultimately the kids have to learn to manage it and, surprisingly, most do.

I'm another mom who feels

- submitted by Anonymous on 05/19/2008

I'm another mom who feels like I will never fit in. I drive an 11 year old Geo Tracker convertible, never wear makeup (because I don't know how!), live in jeans and t-shirts, don't own a cell phone, etc. My kids are international adoptees, they don't watch TV or play video games, and we think that a perfectly acceptable after school activity is to stomp through mud barefoot. But you know, I still have a few friends, and if the well coiffed Gap clad Mom Mafia doesn't like me, screw them. I have more fun, with less aggravation.