Thursday, September 8, 2005

What's enough? I spoke this afternoon with a dear friend in New York, a man who performed my wedding and holds the distinction of being the only person in my life with whom I forged an attachment while onboard an airplane. (And when I say "forging an attachment", I do not mean joining the mile high club. First off, he's gay, and second, I mean--we made friends.) He has the NY life that I covet, meaning fabulous loft downtown, most beautiful farmhouse ever upstate, handsome, wonderful partner, great friends, total cultural engagement always. He also, funnily enough for a childless man in his 60s, has a lot of little kids in his life, including ours. He asked me about Dido's return to school, which has not been without some drama (or trauma, depending upon who you ask.) This morning, the boy said plaintively, "Mommy, why I have to go to school every day? Why?" As I told my friend, I don't really have a good answer. I mean, he's four. Of course he doesn't need to go to school every day. But the preschool we chose is a five day a week school, and quite frankly, though I cried bitterly last year when he started, and agonized over sending him to preschool at age three, I need him to go to school. Pathetic though I may be, I don't have it in me to parent them both round the clock. I need a little break. But I didn't tell Dido any of this. I told him that he goes to school every day because he has much he needs to learn. "So much?" he asked, suspiciously. "So much." And we left it there. But in the past (when we'vve had this same conversation) the boy has wondered aloud why I can't teach him everything he needs to know. Again, there are multiple answers that I don't share--I don't know enough being one, I don't have enough patience being another. I shared all this with my friend, who said, isn't it fantatic that he thinks his mother knows everything? It's true, often he does think that of both his parents, which is heartbreaking in its simplicity and sweetness. But as my friend said, "Well, he wouldn't get into Harvard if he didn't start at the right preschool." He was being snide, making fun of some other parents he knows who are, according to him, nearing obsession about their kids future Ivy League attendance. I was thinking about success, specifically my kids' future success, lying in bed just last night. And what I was thinking is, how much is enough? I am not famous. I am not a leader in any field. I had a fairly promising career in television (NOT CURING CANCER, PEOPLE) which I jettisoned to stay home with my kids. I may go back to work, but it is highly unlikely that I'll ever have as much power or earn as much money as I did when I quit. I still feel pangs of ambition, but when I look at my children, I wonder. I felt the dual pressures of a gift of relative intelligence and my parents' many, many, many sacrifices made to afford my very expensive private, prep school, Ivy League education. (Yes, I know, this makes it easy for me to be snide about other parents' anxiety about their kids' futures--my kids will be "legacies" at arguably the best boarding school and one of the top Ivy Leagues [nope, not Harvard.]) I also felt that my parents gave me a present of almost incalculable value by mortgaging their lives so that I could attend the schools I did. But when I think about my children, I think: happiness. Health. Self-awareness and understanding. The ability to live truthfully. Freedom from (most) want. I don't think, power, money, influence. How about the rest of you? 9:30:51 PM     comment [] trackback []