A lesson on growth

This weekend is a busy one for us. The start of summer is a busy season for every parent of school-aged children.  At the end of the school year, we congratulate ourselves for making it through nine months of impossible feats of scheduling and logistics with the granddaddy of them all. There is a multitude of concerts, ceremonies, picnics, sporting events, and parties to attend or else have suitable reason for declining: another conflicting event. It’s exhausting but it is nice to remember the year and how much the kids have grown.

Recently, our PTA put on an end-of-year celebration. We invited families to bring dinner to a school-wide picnic near the playground. The event was no cost to families, a decision our events committee made, and I love them for it. There was school swag and yearbooks available for purchase, but otherwise the event was totally free. The kids loved it. The energy was like standing in television static. My volunteer services were best utilized at the face painting station. Last year this activity cost a few tickets and the two volunteer face-painters were busy for the entire two hours. We anticipated a mob now that it was free. With double the amount of face painters, we still had a line all night. I loved it. Slathering cake makeup onto sweaty kid after sweaty kid into something that kind-of, sort-of resembled a Minecraft creeper, then turning the mirror and watching their face light up as if you had painted Starry Night on their forehead. It was so heartwarming and a great confidence boost. I was enjoying the mad rush and the unique interaction with each kid (reminding myself it was only two hours, as needed) when a couple of men came and stood over me and the child who’s face I was working on.

They were talking mostly to each other but would occasionally include myself and the woman painting next to me, who was the spouse of one of the men. First, they made some borderline comments about the designs displayed, as if they would have sat down to get one if only we had a better selection, one more suited to middle-aged men. This annoyed me, but I understand the dumb conversations you find yourself in at school events. You’re talking to someone you know only from seeing them at all the other school events over the year. You don’t know their name or their child, but you really hope they have one who attends this school because otherwise you should probably report that information to somebody, followed by relief when some sticky kid runs up to ask them to hold their juice box. It’s an awkward exchange. They continued like that for a while and I did my best to tune them out and focus on the Pikachu at hand, ignoring the fact that had I been left-handed, I could have elbowed them in the balls because they were standing so close. Then, they started asking questions about the event itself. Who put this on? The PTA. Oh. What do you even do at those meeting, just sit around and talk? No, you f*cking a**hole, we planned this event that you are currently enjoying with you child (the expletives were internal, fyi). Then I informed him that there was only one male parent in our PTA, and he was welcome to join so that he can see exactly what we do. We’re always looking for new members. He told me he was reeeeeeal busy. He drew out the word real just like that. He wanted to be sure I knew he was lying and that he would never actually lower himself to such a worthless cause. Saying he was busy was just a social nicety to performatively spare my delicate feelings. I took a deep breath and asked him and my fellow face painters’ partner to back up so the kids could get to my station and so my blood could reduce to a simmer. My focus returned to the face in front of me and the rest of the night was great.

For some reason this brief interaction stuck with me. I can’t seem to put into words why this dug so deeply under my skin. The moms and I were working furiously to give each child what they wanted while keeping the shared tools clean and accessible to each other. I was listening constantly for my own children who might walk up requesting water, or snacks, or do you know where my friend Jack went? I probably painted at least 30 faces. My partner brought me a delicious bite of funnel cake. I felt bonded to my fellow painters, we had survived the onslaught without any hiccups. So much happened that night that was pleasant and enjoyable, and what stands out is the dig? His comments in that moment with all the joyous chaos that surrounded us are what’s left echoing in my ears.

Normally, I attribute this kind of behavior to a lack of self-awareness, which doesn’t make it acceptable, but it does relieve some irritation. What can you do with someone who doesn’t recognize their own effect on others? Mentally, I can write them off for any kind of enduring relationship and the conversation becomes more enjoyable at lower stakes. This guy felt different, his comments felt targeted and intentional. The subtext was a display of dominance, in fact, the literal body positioning was a display of dominance. It makes me wish I had chosen that moment to become ambidextrous. But my job as a PTA mom is to keep the peace and focus on the enjoyment of the child in front of me. Now I could never prove it, but I bet that’s exactly why he chose that moment to say it. He used my own sense of decency against me. I certainly couldn’t say exactly what I wanted to say in that moment in front of a six-year-old butterfly. So, I’ll try it here.

What I wanted to say:

“So, it’s such an impressive event that you can’t believe a group of moms (plus one Dave) put it together; but you think the meetings are just girls sitting around talking about purses? And you would never waste your own time to do something kind for the community that you call yourself a part of by attending this event today because… it’s beneath you? What the f*ck are you trying to say right now? Back up out of my space and search yourself for some gratitude.”

Actually, now that I’ve written it out, I wish I had said that in front of the butterfly (minus the f*ck). Asking for clarification is a useful interpersonal skill that would serve her well in life, and holding people accountable for the words they say is a dying art. I could have provided a real-life demonstration on how to knock some air out of an overinflated ego. Maybe that’s why the moment is still bugging me two days later, not because of what he said, but because of what I didn’t say, on behalf of the butterfly.