To all the ‘Soccer Moms’ of the world,
That’s kind of a misnomer. You see, you may not only be found on the soccer field. Some of you are found in dance studios, or on baseball fields or in the waiting room at music lessons. You’re not every mom, but lately, it feels like it. You’re the mom whose sure that your child is smarter, more creative and more special than any other child out there. You’re the mom who thinks their daughter is perfect, could never be mean and is always so polite to adults. You won’t actually say it, because you’re much to smart for that, you’ll just nod your head politely when you see other children who struggle and you’ll think ‘thank God that’s not MY child.’
I’ve spent the last week dealing with you, and I’m pretty much over it now. You see, I probably would have been one of you had fate, or God, or whatever you might believe in, not brought me the children I am blessed enough to call mine. I probably would have had the child you have, the one that has been loved since the day he was conceived. The one who received the best prenatal care, went to the best preschool and started Kindergarten with a mommy and daddy who kissed them goodbye and sent them on their way knowing in their heart that they were truly safe.
Well, you see, none of my children had that. Their beginnings were all rooted in loss. While they were my first choice, I was their second after they weren’t able to be with their biological family anymore. I’m the mom of the child who didn’t go to the best preschool. In fact, I’m the mom of the child who spent her entire preschool years wandering alone and hungry. I’m the mom of the little boy who didn’t go to Kindergarten because his school was so awful that he couldn’t stand it. He snuck out the window nearly every day and went and played in the field to avoid the beatings. I’m the mom of the girl who was ripped away from everything she knew at the age of 8 and sent to live with a new family in a country where nothing was familiar or even seemed real at first.
I am the mom who will email you fifteen times to make sure she has the exact details for the art project you’ve planned to honor the teacher she loves. I am the mom of the little girl who couldn’t handle attending the group session you planned to complete this project. I also couldn’t handle attending it because, well, you see, I am the mother who has seven other children. And, to be honest, I didn’t really want to go. I’ll email you over and over for details because my daughter can’t stand not knowing exactly what is expected of her or what is happening next. She can’t take being left out. She was left out from the day she was born until she came to live with me at nearly three years old. This has left lasting scars. This is what you see when you’re thinking ‘thank God SHE’S not mine.’
I’m sorry if all of this bothers you. I’m so sorry if it’s inconvenient for you. I have to work so much harder than you do just to make it through the day. I know I do. And, I’m okay with that. Because someday, if it takes until the day I die, my kids are going to feel what your kid did from the second she was born. Someday, my kid is going to know in their heart that they’re loved. They’re going to know they’re safe. They’re going to know they’re special. The difference is, I’m going to teach my child that while they’re so very special to me, in the eyes of the rest of the world, they’re not any MORE special than your child. I’m going to teach them that they matter, but only just as much as the next person on this earth. And, when they know that, everything they’ve lived through in the past, everything they’ve struggled to overcome, everything they’ve seen and experienced will all combine together to make them an absolutely amazing person.
On that day, I’m going to smile, and maybe, just maybe you’ll hear me shouting…
who wouldn’t mind having the soccer moms leave her be until then.