We do got this

August 11, 2022

We do got this

A couple of weeks ago, our Little Laide was selected as one of two students from her class to compete in the school final of a public speaking competition. Her speech, written at the last minute, was about Scat (thank you for the inspiration Miranda Currie). Of the six students from her stage, two would be chosen to represent the school at the zone competition. Little Laide took the task seriously; she sought feedback from her teacher, edited her speech, practiced, timed herself, tweaked, added gestures and even tolerated advice from Mountain Dad and I. The school final of the competition was held in the school hall and she was to speak to most of the student body and a smattering of parents. Gran, Papa and I were in attendance to cheer her on and burst with pride as she stepped up to the microphone. I could tell how nervous she was by the speed at which she spoke and the absence of all her carefully rehearsed hand gestures. You may not have read this nervousness- she held herself well and made the audience laugh (honestly, who doesn't like a good ol' poo joke?). When they announced the two winners, neither of which were her, I watched as she beamed and applauded their success. Afterwards, we had a quick cuddle before she had to go back to class.

I was in turmoil for the rest of the day.

I ached with the thought of her disappointment.

We really aren't a family of winners. We aren't even that competitive. Mountain Dad recently got chipped by another parent on Lox's soccer team for his being too encouraging of "everyone is a winner and we're here to have fun!" Apparently that's not the attitude to have if you want your kids to be champions. And truly, Shea and I do not have expectations that our children will be champions. Instead we strive to ensure they are kind, responsible and healthy young humans.

But this time. This public speaking competition, we'd really gotten behind Little Laide's efforts and I felt the disappointment like it was my own. I had to wait another four hours until the end of the school day to check in with her, and the whole time I fretted. How sad was she? Did she need to cry? How can I fix this? How can I make it better? Why, I worried, could I not swaddle my babies to protect them from the buffets of disappointment that life dispenses. And what on earth is it about our society that we always acknowledge the best, the winners, the top scorers and the celebration of growth and effort is always the lesser? As her Grade 2 teacher noted, Little Laide deserves a Shining Star award every day. And yet, she so often watches as the rowdy boys are given the awards week after week while she comes home empty handed. As the child of teachers, she knows well why we award the rowdies and try to catch them being good. And yet it doesn't seem fair that we can't award her Winner of Being Consistently Relied Upon for Exceptional Behaviour and Helpfulness; Unremarkable but Quietly Dependable. Ah me... in place of such an award, I picked a posy of flowers from the garden and put them in a vase on her desk with a note.

I continued to fret my way through the afternoon and was earnestly early to meet the kids after school. Stoic Adelaide was certainly disappointed and mostly accepting. We had a long discussion about the merits of the winners speeches and her own. She didn't cry. She was proud of her efforts though a little bruised from the results. Like any small bruise, it healed quickly. She looks ahead to the next challenge; annoying her brother, climbing the mango tree, getting better at tennis. Life rolls on.

Yet is still stays with me. This discomfort of having a piece of my own heart out there, rollicking its way through the world and I'm only partially able to protect it from the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune. Maybe this more about me. Maybe it's about my kids. But the fact remains that they are growing up, dear friends. You see it in the pictures, right? Bigger and bolder and stretching the umbilical cord. Testing my patience, a lot of the time. Making me proud, most of the time.