First Day Back
Today all three of my kids went to school for the first time in 13 months.
Don’t yell, I told myself after I yelled at my 14-year-old that he had to get up! My 11-year-old boy and 9-year-old girl scurrying quickly to the car. Taller than me, hair down to his eyes and the egg sandwich wrapped in tinfoil from Noah’s Bagel shop that I had delivered sitting untouched in his lap as we barreled back onto the freeway.
I thought about telling them something uplifting or encouraging and thought about the other 8th grade girl who in a national competitive cross-country runner, huffing it up the hill towards her home on her bike, that triggered me to yell at my 14-year-old to stop playing games, “the gaming has to end!” As if a year home doing just that had been his choice.
Commuting in Los Angeles with kids give you a lot of time to listen.
One of the most beautiful images I have ever seen was on a morning pre-Covid probably 5 years ago, a young black man in a suit had pulled his BMW over while cars kept whizzing by him, and he just held his child who looked to be a year and a half. The look in the dad’s eyes was that of surrender. He just knew his child was losing it and needed to be held.
Often, I forget that now that my oldest has much bigger feet then me.
We took in the homeless encampments. “It’s been a while since you’ve been in Hollywood,” I said to my teen.
“Mmm,” he grumbled.
“Are they removing those homeless people because school is coming back in session?” My 9-year-old daughter asked from the backseat.
“I was wondering the same thing, but I don’t think so honey. God, you all are living thru such a different time.” I say to them.
I notice a man who was living in a big trash bin at the bottom of Outpost was no longer there anymore. Every time I have commuted with my kids in LA I question raising them here.
Then I read the news. Shooting here, shooting there and I feel that no place is safe from the gun violence plaguing us.
Plus, I can get really great sushi delivered.
And Pho, which my Asian friend’s daughter correctly told me had to pronounce just last week. Not to mention the kind Armenian older man who sometimes delivers coffee and I happily let him pick my grapefruit which he smiles and tells me is very good.
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As I pulled into my two youngest kids’ private school my teen piped up, “Wait a minute, oh man. I’m going to have to actually do work. I’m used to doing a few classes and playing games all day.”
“Well, we thank you for your honestly,” I said as his younger brother and sister and I laughed.
“I never noticed how much security is at the school,” quipped my teen.
I tried quickly to explain, “It’s because the school’s Jewish,” but trailed off, grateful to see a beloved teacher waving at us.
After dropping the two youngest off my oldest and I grabbed a cup of coffee in a hip coffee shop on Sunset. With the masks I wonder if people can tell that my tall man/child is just a 13-year-old boy who was taken out of everything and stayed home for a year as he quietly just stands there.
I motioned for him to order. Which he does. He likes his coffee with cream only, no sugar. I give credit to his hippy dippy pre-school.
Plodding along over Laurel Canyon he tells me he doesn’t even know where to go on campus.
“I guess I’ll just walk around with my computer and look it up,” I can’t help starting to laugh at his good-natured self-depreciation.
We arrive at his school over the hill far too early, I haven’t filled in the health screening app correctly, “Oh mom, you are failing at life,” he jokes with me as someone helps us. I keep apologizing to the staff as I feel like the parent who just keeps getting it wrong, but I know there are many of us feeling this way.
I drop him off with the elementary kids as we are there so early and watch him walk away by himself off to figure things out.
When his brother, sister and I pick him up he walks out with a pack of masked 8th grade boys. They are so tall.
God, they got so tall.
I barely recognize them, but I wave anyways, to let them know I want to know them better. All of them have hair that nearly meets their masks.
He’s quiet at first then asks if we can get KFC.
He tells me he needs a haircut and P.E. with a mask in the Valley when it is 80 is horrible. “Universal City looks so small,” he comments as we plod home.
“Today felt like a normal day for the first time,” said my 11-year-old. “At recess they let us play with blocks and everyone buried me in them.”
