Excuses

Why do we think up excuses? I'm not going to go too deep into this question. It comes to mind because I was sorting through Christmas cards and letters and re-read my parents' brief letter in which they told everyone that they'd been to Seattle this summer to see my niece graduate high school. This bit of text struck a sour note.

At first I thought it hit me wrong because they'd failed to mention my daughter's "big event" (preschool graduation) that had occurred the day before my niece's event (high school graduation). Most people might not consider "graduation" from preschool much of a deal, and my family did not, as no one gave it a thought or showed up for it except my husband and me. My daughter thought it was a very big deal. She felt she had learned a lot. She felt she had been through a lot. She felt great kinship with her much older cousin because they were both graduating on the same weekend. She felt confused when no one came to her ceremony and everyone went to the other. She took it personally, and yet with more grace than her father and I did.

Do I think people should travel thousands of miles to go to family members' preschool graduations? No. I don't think they have to travel anywhere for anyone's. Acknowledging the achievement is fine. Acknowledging the importance of the individual (and so the event to the individual) is crucial. (Note of confession: I vehemently struggled to avoid both my college and law school graduations, but it was extremely important to my parents, so I relented.)

I don't think my extended family understood the importance of this little preschool to my immediate family. The people who run this school are persons of color. The families attending are mostly of color or mixed race; they run the economic and educational gamut. And this school thrives with more love pumping through its veins than some families. The children succeed. They have strong self-esteem. They are motivated and a joy to be around. Many of them are ready for 1st Grade when they leave; not just Kindergarten... and they haven't been plugged into chairs with lectures all day. They've played and learned and their play is learning and their learning is play. It is a wonderful place. It is a healthy, vibrant community. It was the place to which my daughter transitioned from my 24-hour care when she was almost 4 years old. It was the place that helped us teach her that the world was safe and loving and exciting and that she was okay with or without Mama's constant physical presence.

Our only child, who had been afraid of rambunctious play at the parks around town and would stop playing if the other children got into that play mode, who sometimes had a hard time making friends at public events, learned how to navigate the world of social interaction. We go to a park now and she finds someone to play with. Rambunctious play goes on around her and she navigates that, too. The presence of boys does not send her to the sidelines of play. She is comfortable with persons of different races, genders, cultures, and languages. She is comfortable with her own mixed-race family. Sure, she picked up the subjects the school taught with the ease of a champion learner, but it was the social skills more than anything for which we are grateful. I had trouble with shyness growing up. There is a part of me that is exuberantly outgoing around those I know and feel comfortable with and a part that has no idea how to get to know other people and get to a point of comfort with them. Maybe my daughter will struggle, too, but at least she has some tools to work with that I didn't have to give her.

Preschool graduation is a momentous occasion to the children involved. Others recognize that the children have achieved and honor that achievement. We can't know what all those achievements are, but some, like those mentioned above, are obvious. And we can't know everything the child thinks s/he achieved. For a parent to recognize that a child has transitioned to a place of comfort on her own two feet, through a major transition, is to respect that child and reinforce that child's confidence that her judgment is correct: I have achieved and I can achieve. All achievement is not measured by how much of a product you've completed to code in an 8-hour day or on how many tests you've scored a passing grade. Why, after all, do we celebrate 50th wedding anniversaries? Not because the couple had X number of children or made X number of dollars together.

Sometimes don't we celebrate so we can celebrate each other with each other? Sometimes don't we celebrate that we are with each other?

Which brings me back to what I think bothered me about the Christmas letter. Everything isn't about achievement, practicality, frugality, or a valid purpose. We don't need excuses to take trips to see each other or to celebrate each other.

I can only guess what it was like growing up in the Great Depression. I listen to every story I can from those who did. I read. I imagine. But I did not do it. My husband comes closer to understanding than I, because he didn't grow up with as much as I. When he describes his upbringing, it sounds more like my mother's than mine.

My parents have been frugal people as long as I've known them. Every expense has been scrutinized and weighed. Sometimes potential expenditures were rolled around on a lightly floured surface and folded into themselves until the worry was kneaded through. My parents took good care of us and set themselves up for a decent retirement. They are generous, loving, and gracious people. They taught me much in this way. And there is this part of them, and therefore me, that is sooooo Scots-Irish, so prudently Protestant, so thrifty and sensible that it is as if their brains wore nurse's shoes.

What bothered me about the Christmas letter was that the words essentially said, "we owe you all a sensible explanation for this trip. We need an excuse for this frivolity. It can't be about us. It must be about someone else to be legitimate and not selfish." My parents don't need an excuse to visit, to travel, to love on us or themselves. They don't have to be practical in all things. They don't need anyone's approval or blessing.

It's the same reason my family didn't show for the preschool graduation. The event was not sensible because a child's seemingly small accomplishments don't register on the general, practical, work-ethic adult mind as meritorious. Maybe the children's accomplishments are greater than any of our adult accomplishments. And maybe it is time to set aside the accomplishment scale, the critical eye, and release each other from these bonds of expected scrutiny. Maybe we could not only stop fishing around for the plank in our neighbor's eye, but also stop digging about for the splinter in our own, realizing that maybe there is no splinter, that our eyes are bloodshot and hurt from the strain of scrutiny and simply need a rest.