At A Glance
Author	destrss
Contact	[email protected]
IAM	destrss
When	A year ago
Location	Maryland

Lessons After School
By Angela Kuhns

I used to dread picking up my daughter from kindergarten. Knowing I would have to stand there waiting for her alone, watching the other moms chat, brought on a daily wave of alienation. I had tried many times to talk to the other mothers, usually receiving curt answers to my inquiries and tight smiles. I gave up after the second week of school. For a while I would make sure to carefully cover up and wear the acceptable mom uniform of jeans and a sweatshirt, but it didn't help.

One day as I stood waiting in my usual spot I overheard some gossip, and was shocked to realize it was me they were talking about: "...and you know that those people do the heroin. The tattoos are to cover the needle marks..." "...I think it's appalling that someone doesn't speak up for the poor children. Those kinds of people neglect and abuse their own kids. I can't tell you how many of them I have seen on talk shows..."

My face was hot and I felt tears in my throat. I swallowed, and stepped slowly away from them. I pretended I hadn't heard their careless mutterings. To be judged so harshly and gossiped about smacked of high school hallways and the cliquish mentality of teenage girls. Vicious words that had cut through me like a hot knife still echoed in my head as the bell rang. I forced a smile as my daughter ran out to hug me and then I asked her about her day. Carefully avoiding eyes, I walked her to the van, grateful for it's secure and calm interior. We drove home.

Weeks passed. Then, one afternoon as I stood apart from them in a short-sleeved shirt, one of them approached me. "I hope you don't mind me asking..." the frumpy woman before me started speaking as she glanced over her shoulder at the expectant faces of her friends, "but I was just wondering. Don't you worry about the example you are setting for your daughter?"

"What do you mean?" I asked while staring her straight in the eye.

"Well, with your tattoos and weird clothes and hair and things," she said as she reached out a finger towards my nostril ring.

I resisted the urge to bite it. Instead, I smiled and calmly replied, "Actually, I am happy to teach my children about tolerance and acceptance. What I really worry about are the other parents who teach their children to shun or attack those who are different from them."

I wish I could tell you about how a light suddenly went on for this woman. I wish I could say that she suddenly saw past my appearance. I wish I could at least relate to you how she had the decency to appear embarrassed at her audacity. I can't and she didn't.

"That isn't what I meant," she said glancing away from me.

"Oh?" I asked. "I'm sorry. What did you mean?"

"Well, don't you worry that they will do drugs and break the law? Don't you want a better life for your kids than that?" she asked as her gaze came back on me. It was hard and cold and the smile was gone from her lips. In its place was a vicious sneer and her tone of voice had taken on an edge. I took a deep breath and kept my voice down and calm.

"Of course I don't want that for my children, but what do those things have to do with dying my hair or getting a tattoo?" I asked, but she had no answer. She just kind of snickered and walked back to deliver her report to her friends.

Again, when the bell rang I forced a smile as my daughter ran out to hug me. Carefully avoiding eyes, I walked her to the van while asking her about her day. Again I was grateful for the secure and calm interior of my vehicle, and we drove home.

This type of experience keeps happening to me. No matter how many times I am publicly judged by another parent, it still shocks me. Should I accept this as normal behavior? Is it acceptable? I don't think so, but maybe I am idealistic.

Is there something to be learned here? If there is a lesson behind it, I can't seem to find it.

I keep going back to that unanswered question.
What do appearance choices have to do with behavior?
There really is no good answer.

Sometimes I wonder late at night about the cruel world my children are growing up in. When they ask me why people are mean or why they judge others, I still don't know what to say. Intolerance doesn't play by the rules, and it really is everywhere. All I can do is try to teach them not to spread the negativity that they encounter and show them every day that I love them.