Ode to the Richboro Elementary kids... unknowingly a thread in my fabric.

I never thought I’d find myself in a position to give advice to a teenage daughter.  I was entirely certain that I would not have children; I’ve never considered myself a maternal type.  I wasn’t the girl who dreamt about a big wedding, and a white picket fence and kids in the yard.  Truthfully, I hadn’t thought that far ahead and I wouldn’t have even considered myself a role model.

But then…my daughter happened. And it was terrifying and exhilarating. But truthfully, I kind of coasted by on things when she was younger; I just had to make sure she was clean and fed. But now all of the sudden, I’m a deer in the headlights.  She’s asking questions that make me want to feign memory loss and pretend like I don’t know my own name.   But then I remember that I got myself into this, and now I’ve got to get myself out.

She’s in middle school now, so she has a lot of questions about what I’ll call the “human dynamic”. But since we all know teenagers are not quite human, I’m going to call it “hormonal hell”.  And I’m going to say this right now: I adore my daughter. She is the coolest little chick I know. She’s artistic; she’s creative and wildly intelligent (more than she gives herself credit for). And she and I have been the three musketeers since Z came along in 2004, but prior to that she and I were a team. It was her and I, thick as thieves. And I’m blessed that MOST of the time, I think she likes me. But I’m not quite sure. She does say that her friends think I’m cool, you know, compared to their moms.  But I think that’s winning by default, you know like when someone you’re racing trips?  So I don’t know if that's a compliment or not. Thirteen has me very confused, so I can’t imagine how she feels.

My daughter’s best friend is my best friend’s daughter.  And my best friend and I are both very self assured, creative and outspoken women. We’ve raised our daughters with the understanding that we love them for their creativity, passion and innocence. We didn’t want them to grow up too fast, and we didn’t want them to feel like outcasts for their artsy side.  Sometimes it seems that love and upbringing has made it a culture shock at school.

I try to relay to them that you get older, things change. That your memories get selective as you grow. You remember the kids you grew up with in an affectionate way and you overlook the trivial problems you had, though they seemed huge back then. That you have fallouts with people you grow up with, but you get older and move on. She seems doubtful. And then, despite my horror, I refer to Facebook.  I point out people I’ve known since elementary school, people who make up the fabric of who I am and the memories of my childhood.  

As school years passed, we had our differences. We fell in with different sets of people, sets who didn’t always get along or agree. And we frequently found ourselves on the outskirts of arguments, reluctant to be involved due to our history with the other person on the sidelines. Sometimes it was unavoidable; you were forced to make a choice in the uncomfortable world of peer pressure, just like her friends are.

Now, looking back, I marvel at the range my little neighborhood has grown to.  One is a newbie to FB living in New York and his cool older brother in the Northeast, another set of siblings I’m still in touch with and are both great moms, one living in Montana I presume following her passion for animals, one is a beautifully inspired teacher, one lives in Richboro right down the street from me and seems to be a redheaded spiritual sister, the other just bought a new house in Holland and is raising the family I always knew she’d raise beautifully. And finally, my best friend growing up who lived right next door.  She has grown into someone who I love to pieces and we’re so like-minded, it doesn’t seem to matter when months go by and we haven’t spoken, we’re totally on the same wave length when we do talk.

These are hard things to explain to a thirteen year old girl, especially when I think back to my 13-year-old self. Awkward, bookworm, shy (unbelievable, right?! The people above will back me up here!) and never sure that I would feel comfortable in my skin.

So I thank my neighborhood kids, I have a ton of memories with each of you in it.  Some good, some a little rough, but all an important thread in the fabric that has woven this life.  And even though she won’t understand now, the stories I relay about the neighborhood soccer games, the neighborhood crushes, the bus rides on the back of the bus, of how great Halloween USED to be in our neighborhood, she will understand when she grows and learns. And I hope that when she grows to be where I am in my life, she looks back with a smile when she thinks about those “kids” and understands that sometimes, it takes years to learn from those people around you.  And if you’re lucky, all you learn is how to be yourself.