Parenting, Sometimes We Do a Bang-Up Job

and sometimes we do the best we can do

Welcome to Pocketful of Prose. I had so much fun crafting this week’s post. I hope you enjoy it and join us for some conversation in the comments.

I told my son Seabass, who is 12 years old, that I was going to write about our shopping experience earlier this week, and he asked if I was going to make him look bad? “Never,” I said. He then asked if I would make myself look bad. I’ll leave that one up to interpretation.

Pocketful of Prose is free for everyone. If you like what you read, please click the heart at the bottom. It helps folks find us. If you like what you read so much that you want to support the publication by becoming a paid subscriber, you may do so. However, I still am not going to buy Seabass name brand cleats.

Without further ado, today’s pocket.

Photo by Ralph (Ravi) Kayden on Unsplash

I love learning from people who are so good at what they do that it is almost like their art is an extension of themselves. Do you know people like that? Don’t you love them? Perhaps, like me, you are slightly jealous of them.

I have had many teachers like this, and I am so grateful for them. Mr. Mark, who was able to teach me to play guitar even though I don’t really have any rhythm. Ms. Holmes, my ceramics teacher, who somehow managed to make forming things with clay feel incredibly good even though my creations were incredibly bad. Is that an ashtray or a candy dish, and why is it upside down? And yes, this was when we still made ashtrays in high school ceramics. To be fair, I teach in a high school, and just today a student walked by with a ceramic creation that looked just like mine all those years ago. It’s good to know some things haven’t changed. Also, maybe it wasn’t that I was so bad at ceramics, but more that ashtrays, candy dishes, sandwich plates... all kinda look alike. One of my favorite people to learn from was my neighbor and landlord Sue, who made all sewing and house tasks, including cabinet making, seem simple and somehow stress free. On my own, I couldn’t load a bobbin without cursing it off, but with Sue’s tutelage, I was successfully able to sew Christmas gifts for my family that they actually wore without being made fun of. If you are picturing cool chic sweaters, let me stop you right there. I made a set of infinity scarves. The one I made for myself made me feel a little like I was being strangled by an invisible force. I wore it twice and now it sits in a box I can’t bear to part with, all that work. But at least one of the scarves came out really good. Unfortunately, that was the one I gave Anna, which she immediately lost, but such is life.

Regardless of how much we actually learn, it is a joy to be taught something by someone who is an expert. Marshall, our surfing instructor in Kauai, was one such expert.

Marshall stands before the four surf boards on Hanalei Beach. He calmly walks us through every instruction and then checks for comprehension. “Sounds good, ya?” And it does sound good. Everything Marshall says sounds good. Marshall is teaching me that surfing is kind of like yoga, and that is a language I understand. He has connected something foreign to something less foreign, a strategy all good teachers employ. Because of Marshall, I am more confident about taking my board out on the water.

Marshall was born in Kauai. He descended from kings, from the people who lived here before it became a place filled with colonizers and their pigs, pumpkins and pestilence.  Marshall first stepped on a board at age 3. He is at home in the water. As we wait for waves, he chills by our side, holding our boards and talking about the poke he will eat for lunch.  When the wave arrives, he launches us gently and effortlessly into the swell. Because surfing is an extension of himself, he successfully teaches all four of us to stand up on the board. Because of Marshall’s expertise, we learn to surf, and we have fun.

Sometimes I am an expert like Marshall. I was that expert just yesterday when I taught Rosalyn how to construct an introductory paragraph for her argument on why confederate statues should all be taken down. It not only feels good to learn from an expert, it feels pretty great to be the expert.

The problem is, as a parent and as a human, I am sometimes thrown into situations where I am not an expert. In these situations, the conditions are a lot less controlled than they are in Marshall’s hands on the shores of Hanalei Bay. In these situations, I am still expected to show up without freaking the fuck out, and to be honest, I sometimes find this hard.

Take for instance, Monday. Seabass and I are on an eleventh-hour trip to gather all the necessities he needs for soccer. Because every kid under the sun plays soccer, none of the local stores have any cleats left. When I realize this, I make a desperate attempt to squeeze Seabass into the cleats he wore two years ago. They are two sizes too small, but I, like Cinderella’s evil stepsisters, try to stuff that foot in. I stop short of cutting off Seabass’ toes and do something almost as distasteful. I agree to drive to the valley.

We are cutting it close by the time we actually leave.  The time spent squeezing into shoes, finishing afternoon chores, and if I’m completely honest getting seriously sidetracked reading Thi Bui’s graphic novel The Best We Could Do, has really set us back. Before you judge me for stopping to read, please keep in mind that reading daily is how I stay sane as a parent. Also, Thi’s book is about parents trying to do their best in difficult circumstances. Granted, the Bui’s circumstances were considerably more difficult than mine, having escaped from a war-ravaged country to a country that greatly contributed to that ravaging. Nonetheless, parenting is hard.

So, by the time we arrive at Dick’s Sporting Goods, we have exactly ten minutes to grab Seabass’ gear. If you are also a parent, you know how much we can squeeze into ten minutes. I have done full grocery trips in ten minutes. A ten-minute shower is unheard of. I’m out and dry in two. I can clean my entire house in ten minutes, or rather, I can make it look clean in ten minutes if someone is coming over, and I don’t want them to know what it really looks like.

So, I don’t see our time limit as a problem. However, I don’t anticipate several factors.

Factor one- Every parent and child on the planet, who tried every other store unsuccessfully, is now here in this footwear department.

Factor 2-There are only two people working this minimum wage job, and one of them was just hired yesterday.

Factor 3- Seabass is trying to convince me to buy Mbappe soccer cleats, which to Seabass’ credit are purple with lightning bolts and totally amazing. The only catch is they cost twice as much as the generic cleats. Did I mention that we just splurged on a trip to Hawaii, and also on a surf lesson for four?

Not Seabass’ actual cleats

I am starting to panic as I realize Seabass is going to be late for his soccer practice. His new coach could not have been more clear. Be at the field at 6:30, water bottle in hand, cleats on, ready to play. At 6:30, we are not on the field. We are nowhere near the field. We are still in the store, trying to get the attention of the salesclerk in a sea of people trying to do the same thing.

At lunch earlier today, I was having a conversation with a colleague about how one of the problems with our society is that we don’t let real people do actual jobs anymore.  “We have lost the human touch,” I tell her as I eat my salad. (I may have been eating something less healthy, but I can’t be expected to remember all the details.)

But when the salesclerk at Dick’s Sporting Goods goes into the back for the third time and reappears without any cleats in hand, I decide that he is the actual problem with our society. My rationale brain understands that this is not true. It is not his fault that he was just hired yesterday. It is not his fault that everyone within a five mile radius has decided today is the day to buy shoes, and it is most definitely not his fault that I have allotted precisely ten minutes for him to meet all our needs, but my rationale brain is drowned out by my panicked, insane parent brain.

I am used to things going awry in parenting. I usually do okay with it. Normally I am the one telling my kids to stay calm, but as we dash down the aisle following the salesclerk to see if there are any stray cleats near the soccer balls, Seabass says “Mama, can you please stop yelling at everyone?”

I am not even close to being an expert here. Driving in the valley, shopping in a big department store, debating expensive cleats, patiently waiting my turn, planning ahead… It is like a perfect storm of my inexpertise.

When it comes to parenting, though, the decks are kind of stacked against us. At the beginning of her graphic novel, Thi Bui describes her difficult labor. She says that saying yes to the epidural and oxytocin in lieu of natural childbirth is the beginning of her defeat. Lots of women can relate to the experience of childbirth going differently than planned and a subsequent feeling of failure. However, I think Thi is saying much more here. I think perhaps she is suggesting that the beginning of her defeat is parenthood itself.

After her son is born, Thi realizes that family is now something she has created, and “the responsibility is immense.”

So immense that it’s impossible not to fail.

Even in the calmest of waters.

I want to be like Marshall on the shores of Hanalei Bay, taking every wave as it comes, riding each one and showing others how to do the same.

I like to think that if I lived in Kauai just steps from the ocean I’d be like Marshall. But that’s probably not true.

Maybe one day.

In the meantime, some days I do my best. And some days I do the best I can do.

What resonates with you today? Who do you love learning from? Who was/is your favorite teacher, and why are they your favorite? What are you an expert at? When has your lack of expertise showed up in your role as a parent, a teacher, a fellow human? I would love to continue this conversation in the comments.