The Other Side

This morning I called my good and trusted friend whose daughter attends boarding school with my daughter. We were trying to decide if we should bring them home for the weekend. I know, first I’m crying because she’s gone and now I’m thinking that bringing her home is the wrong thing to do, the dichotomy of parenthood. 

There are always two sides to every situation. Sometimes we are too selfish to see it both ways.  We believe what we believe and stand firm on our beliefs. A new perspective sometimes makes us think and feel that we are doing something wrong, going against the grain from what we are used to doing. In an article I read over the summer, a born-again Christian taxi driver had a Rabbi as his passenger, this by no means is a setup for a joke, really. The born-again Christian wanted to know why after so much praying his wife not had the same level of devotion as he did. He told the Rabbi that his wife believed in God and respected his way of worship, but she preferred a quieter form of praise, being vocal about her belief just wasn’t for her. How could someone who “truly loved the Lord’ not want to shout it from the rooftops. The Rabbi considered the cab drivers dilemma for some time and finally answered, “Just because your right does not mean that she is wrong.” 

Often times we fail to look at the other side and convince ourselves what we are doing is the only way, the right way, the way it needs to be for everyone else. We believe that if you do something against the norm you are wrong. I am guilty. We all are.

Today for lunch I decided to go to a local café I hadn’t visited in quite some time. I had previously befriended the owner and was happy to see a familiar face. I asked the owner about her daughter, a sophomore in high school.  She proceeded to tell me that her daughter attended a blue ribbon public high school in a very reputable city. She continued to offer that as a parent we must do what it takes to ensure quality education for our children. And although she did not live in that prestigious city, paying for quality education was justified.  Finally, I thought, another parent who understands. A parent who could appreciate the effort it takes to seek better opportunities for our children. Before me stood a parent who could see the other side of sacrifice and I was grateful for her sympathy.

After answering her question as to what high school my daughter attended, she turned her stance and retorted, “So you sent your daughter away? I could never do that.” I was bewildered at the response. The turncoat failed to realize like I had that that we are the same. She had to send her daughter out of district and pay for an education her daughter deserved. She has to travel twenty miles a day five times a week until June to provide her daughter with an education. That I wanted the same for my daughter did not matter. What did matter to her at that moment was she was right and I was wrong. I was wrong for not doing it her way, for not thinking like her. I felt the pang of anguish in my chest; my fellow ally had failed me. Once again I was alone.

But this time, I was prepared, I was ready. No longer was I going to allow anyone make me feel guilty for having my daughter attend a top boarding school. I smiled politely repeated what my trusted friend had just told me earlier today in our conversation when he was confronted by a sanctimonious parent. “You could never send your child to a boarding school because you have never been given the opportunity to even consider the option.” My statement was really mean and perhaps a bit snobbish. But I was okay because what I said next is really what I intended, "You never had to really consider every part of what it takes to send your child away to school." She finally understood, her silence told me so. I  am guilty.

Crossing the Threshold

Yesterday was our first PTA meeting at the new school. We arrived with no expectation and with an appetite to learn; or rather I arrived with just an appetite. The reception dinner held prior to the meeting was a perfect blend of an impeccably arranged buffet table and a hovering murmur of new faces As I made my way through the assortment of mini spring rolls, cheese balls with fancy names, artisan breads, raw vegetables and spreads, my wife reminded me through a bright wide smile to use the utensils provided on the doily laced plates and not my grubby hands.  I was a bit offended at the grubby remark because I literally wash my hands at least twenty times a day; nonetheless I appreciated the reminder not wanting to embarrass myself in this new crowd. We made our way to the available table in the corner near the door and sat with other enthusiastic parents already nibbling the tiny appetizers that foiled my expectation of a true dinner reception.

I made pleasantries with everyone as I struggled to stab the tiny spring roll with my silverware in hopes to quell the rumbling disappointment of my stomach.  When I rejoined the conversation it was a frenzy confirmation of nodding heads in agreement that even with the invention of cell phones, text messaging, email, face-time, Facebook,My Space, Skype and ooVoo, we could not reach or make contact with our children.  There was a genuine moment of camaraderie among the parents as we finally understood their flagrant defiance. Obviously it was a matter of not having enough technology not that they were really ignoring us!  Sitting at the table I found it rather amusing how parents can turn any topic of conversation into an opportunity to discuss their children.  What’s the weather forecast for tomorrow – my daughter has a field hockey game, or, did you hear that protesters stormed the US Embassy in Yemen; I wonder if my son has social studies homework?

Before going into the newly built library for our meeting we had a brief opportunity to visit with our daughter. With her backpack in tow and her steady gait of confidence, I saw as if for the first time a young lady approaching her parents, not like she needed us, but like we needed her. She was comfortable in her environment, sure and poised. She was settled into a routine of classes, friends and sports.  She walked across the campus like she belonged there, part of a community that had been waiting for her all along. There was nothing separating her from the other students like a spotlight or glimmering skin, it was merely her in her essence.  She had crossed the threshold of childhood and was actively immersed in the realm of high school navigating it successfully.  When did she suddenly stop needing her mother and me?

Her recent telephone calls stood as warnings that she was growing up. Her questions were focused on how we were doing, how was work, does the house feel weird without me, what books are you reading? Were we actually having a conversation? Her interest moved from her to us, we felt included in her life.  Before she left to boarding school we had a dinner party in her honor. As my wife and I moved about our home fulfilling our hosting duties, we watched our daughter sit with each of her guests, engaged in conversation, acknowledging them, sharing with them, participating with them, recognizing their presence. That night in bed, as most married couples do, we discussed the day’s events, but what our daughter did stood out foremost as the best moments of the day.  Her unprompted actions to make others feel welcomed and that their presence in our home mattered made the work of planning and executing such a large party that much more rewarding. She was relaxed in her own skin and thrilled to share herself with those who came to honor her. She is growing and there is nothing we can do about it.  It’s happening. Our job is and always will be to cultivate the growth

Disconnect Equals Growth

I could feel the sense of relief rise from my sister-in-law once she heard the word disconnected. Finally she had a word where she could place her jumbled emotions of not having her son home. You see, he attends the same boarding school as my daughter. My wife’s brother and younger son were both sick with a stomach virus so I called as a cover asking polite informal questions about how they were feeling. It only took two questions before we started talking about our children away at school. As we lamented about the woes of an early empty nest syndrome, I thought back to when I first introduced the idea of boarding school to them. I proposed that boarding school was the best and only option for our children to succeed. Our current school district has only one high school for an extremely large township so I sold them on the idea that our children needed an environment that would recognized their individuality and talents. I convinced them that their son and our daughter needed to be molded into productive people ready for the challenges of adulthood.  I talked them into sending our children away. More guilt.

 My wife and her brother are very close; he’s very protective and supportive. He includes her in his life and if he were to ever move away I know without hesitation or delay that the real estate sign would be on our front lawn the next morning. My wife and her brother are strong of mind and soul and their love runs deep. Once you have gained their trust, you have it for life. But you only get one chance at their trust, love and compassion. My daughter recently told my wife and I that her cousin was the same with her, protective. My prayer is that they develop a bond much like my wife and her brother, that they connect.

When you are separated from what makes you comfortable you are disconnected. It’s the word that my daughter used during one of our recent phone conversation when she expressed through quiet tears how she felt being away from us. She loves her school, okay, she likes her school and will eventually love it i'm sure. She is making friends, understands the material in the class, enjoys field hockey and even has time to study outside of the scheduled two hour evening study hall. But it all seems odd because there is no connection to what she formerly knew. Learning to navigate a new school, new people, new tolerances and expectation on your own is hard. But there must be a detachment for growth to happen. It’s the natural way of life. When a mother gives birth the umbilical cord is separated and mother and child are disconnected physically, but the reattachment I believe happens in the soul.  Even for fathers.

The Perils of a Boarding School Parent

We just returned from a week’s vacation at the beach. We decided to take this trip when we realized it was August and we hadn’t planned for a vacation and let’s face it, who doesn’t need a vacation these days. I’m still reeling from my failure to use sun block thinking that the rented umbrella would protect me. I refused to conform to basic beach rules and now feel the sun unleashed its vengeance for my defiance. The sting is not so bad once you get used to it, but hey, its proof I had a vacation.  The purpose of the vacation was for the three of us, my wife, my daughter and me to engage in a tranquil week full of nothing to do before sending our only child, our daughter to boarding school. Yes, I said it, boarding school.  Most people cringe at the very thought of having a child live away from home. Boarding Schools in most adults mind is a unpleasant place where bad and unwanted spoiled rich kids go.  Recently, when we were out buying school supplies, a gentleman approached my daughter as she contemplated between a floor lamp and a traditional banker’s lamp,he asked what college she was headed to this fall. She politely smiled and replied that she was going to a boarding school, to which he cynically responded, “What did you do?”  She wasn't discouraged or put off by his statement.  But I wanted her to say that she had worked her ass of studying to achieve good grades. That she worked in the community helping others, that she played sports and freely practiced her faith.  I wanted her to kick him in the shins. 

As parents of boarding students we carry an enormous amount of guilt, and if you’re a Puerto Rican Catholic like I am, well the enormity is even greater. You see, not only do we have to deal with the wrath of Jesus, but we have to contend with the tears of the Blessed Mother.  I think I have made her cry so much she has holes in her eyes.  The last nor’easter was the result of my impending doom for even allowing the venial sin of boarding school to enter into my thoughts, forgive me Father for I have sinned.  I think the only way to be absolved of such a sin is to practice a public mourning much like the Shai’s during Muharram.

Not having your child live with you is difficult no matter what age they leave. But if I am being honest, and I am, fourteen seems awfully young. I’ve had to ask myself some serious and tough questions that challenge my capability as a parent. Did I really prepare her for the world? What lessons have I forgotten to teach her? Is she ready to think on her own? Can she even feed herself? I mean really, how many times have you asked your teenager when was the last time they ate and the response is always a resounding “idunno”. I don’t want her to go. I want her to stay forever at home take care of her every whim, but she’ll just grow up to be an irresponsible adult lacking direction and motivation and end up on MTV with a reality show.

I knew that the day would come when we had to actually drop her off, but that always seemed like something on the “to do list” much like cleaning out the gutters. You know it has to get done and you will eventually do it, but there is still time before the real rainy season begins. Well, the storm has arrived and as I walk past our dining room table with all of her items strewn about, the reality has finally taken its toll on my heart. The dread of not hearing her voice every day torments me, albeit we have cell phone, it’s how her sound resonates against the walls of our home, the vibration of her laughter that slowly and warmly fills me.  Each morning I enter her room and wake her with the same phrase, “Good morning my love, time to get up". Who will repeat those words and watch her as she peeks her head from her comforter pull back her tangled hair and say, good morning daddy? Do they know that she is a vegetarian and ironically Team Jacob?  

We vacillated between our daughter being a boarding student and day student. However, once we considered the rigorous shool demands and calculated the distance and time it would take to get her there and back, boarding became the practical and reasonable option.  So I remain in a constant purgatory thinking for now that I made the right choice. 

I know that going away to school seems extreme to most parents and the side comments and looks my wife and I get are hard to contend with at times. The comments people make are polite false statements in support of our choice when in actuality they really think we’re off our rocker. A friend of mine, whose daughter is off to California and was in my daughters eight grade class, told me that his father-in-law told him that if he did not want to raise his daughter anymore he should just send her to live with him.  Each time I see my friend, his heart is heavy and the pain is an obvious wart neither of us wants to acknowledge. I consider myself lucky; my daughter is only thirty minutes away.  

One parent asked what was I going to do about our daughter’s spirituality now that she was going to a Quaker School. I thought Quakers believed in God too.  Most non-boarding parents tell us that they under no circumstances could ever in a million years send their child, especially at such a young age, to a boarding school. I say to all the naysayers, take yourself out of the equation and for one minute think what my wife and I and most parents of students who board think.  In order to have extraordinary children, you have to present them with extraordinary possibilities. Boarding school isn’t for every child. It takes a special kind of child to meet the challenges and demands of a college preparatory independent school. Our daughter has earned her place and has worked hard to achieve all that she has. We are proud of her and have told her so many times. Our wish has always been to see and meet the woman God has intended her to become.