My mind wandered a bit today as I thought about my oldest child's birthday in October.
He turns 7 this year.
His pants had a hole in the knee today.
I remember a lot of things about being 7.
I got my first 'real' bike on my birthday.
The Pink Schwinn.
The day after (I am not really sure if it was the day after for certain, but I remember it being almost the same day as my birthday) my parents told me that they were getting a divorce.
One more year and I would be baptized.
(Ironically, this is a photo of me in my baptism dress...purple. Pretty huh?)
I am not quite sure, but 7 is one of the birthdays that sticks out in my mind, where I grew from being a child, and carefree--to being not so much that way.
I want to make that different for my kids, but this post is not about that.
This post is about being 10.
Being 10 and getting called a 'slob'.
Being 10 and being called a 'slob' by your 4th grade teacher.
So, as I discussed earlier in this post, when I was 7, my parents split.
That left us with a single mother, who worked really hard for us.
We lived across the street from my Grandma and Grandpa.
There wasn't much money, and what little money we had was spent on necessities,
food, shelter, and clothing.
Many of my clothes came from Sears at the time.
My mother worked for a subsidiary of Sears, therefore she got a discount, and they had some sort of amazing children's clothing dealio (I think they still have it!).
Anyway,
In late spring that year, when the school year is getting close to being over,
(and school clothes are near being worn out...)
I went to Kmart with my grandma.
We were in the women's clothing section when I saw THE t-shirt.
It was pink.
It had a kitty on it.
I wanted it SO much!
It was a little big for me (of course) but they style back then was to wear the big tee and tie a knot in the bottom and wear leggings.
She bought it for me.
I was THRILLED.
I couldn't wait to wear it to school the next day.
I put it on, slipped on my black leggings (which had holes in the knees).
Tied the knot, and was off for the day.
I cannot remember how the conversation turned,
or what would possess my (male) teacher to say what he did to me that day.
(In an inner-city school none the less.)
But he did.
"You are such a slob."
Tears.
All because of my big pink kitty shirt and my holey black leggings.
I cried.
Hard.
I was embarrassed.
I know the other kids heard.
What an ass this guy was.
I knew it then, I know it now.
What I learned?
I will protect my kids to the moon and back.
Mean words hurt a lot from kids.
Those same mean words hurt a lot more coming from an adult.
If that man EVER crosses my path, I may punch him.
And that even through all of this, even though the memory still hurts, when I looked back at my 7 year old today, and he had a hole in the left knee of his pants, I let him go to school just like that, and I smiled.
9 comments:
p.s.
hole, not whole.
This is such a wonderful post - (I love that photo btw, you look SO MUCH like your mom, I thought that was you at first!!!). Addy goes to some rich prestigious whatever school, and I'm always constantly worried about whats she's wearing - but she's 4. Who cares if there's a whole in denims? Kids are kids, and that means she's been actively playing and having fun - just as she should be doing. Same with Jothan! Love lovelove everything about this post, thanks for the reminder Kimmy! (and I totally just called you Kimmy, I was real excited haha).
People like that should NEVER be teachers. Sorry. I had a terrible 3rd grade teacher who told me I was not good at math and didn't believe me when I had finished my multiplication test first. She thought I had cheated. The thing is that I am definitely pretty good at math. Not a genius but good. And you are definitely NOT a slob. It's amazing the things we remember isn't it?
Crazy guy! How he did not get reprimanded for this is obscene!
So glad you can be above it! I love holy jeans!
Oh honey, a lot of people would kill for the hole in the knee look.
Your fourth grade teacher? JERK.
Likewise my 3rd grade teacher blew chunks. I have raised Aly that things aren't bad or good but different. We all have opinions, we are all entitled to them, but it doesn't mean we have to share them as a fact. Own it as your own thought and for heavens sake, children are already delicate enough, they are like wet cement and everything that is thrown at them sticks as that cememt hardens and they become adults. I love when Aly walks out the door to school with her head held up high and proud with what she picked out, even though I might be in shock, she is happy and that's what matters. Maybe you saw her outfit on facebook kim? yes she wore that to school. i was proud of her. :)
These posts that you write about your childhood are great, they are reality. I relate to them in the sense that being a single mom sucks, and being a child of a single mom sucks too, but if you can turn out (i don't want you to take that wrong at all please) then maybe i can raise Aly half way decent. I relate to the growing up part, I think of the life experiences my precious 9 yr old has had and I have spot in my heart that aches, like i feel responsible for her growing up so fast, like she is missing out on being a "real" child, but i have to remind myself, that isn't bad or good, it is just different and it will be Aly's journey. that it may not be up to the world's standards, nontheless it is her story that she will tell someday. Hopefully she will be able to write posts that will help others out there.
thank you for posting reality
Luvs,
Carly
1. i couldn't agree more with wallace d the chinese fortune teller up there. his words were byond touching.
2. love this story. i'm probably the worst when it comes to backing my kids up. my lover gets really embarrassed of me and my chola side.
3. sears makes me giggle.
4. thanks for meeting me at the cbc.
5. i'm mad at you for getting sick and not coming back :(
Wow - what a jerk. This look was all the rage when I was that age.
Tell me which teacher it was? Lincoln was/is such a shitty school anyway. I have no good memories of that place.
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