Every kid has to endure at least one topic that his or her parent gets really heated over — a topic that causes great embarrassment to the child, the parent, all the family’s ancestors and every generation yet to come. For my kids, I suspect that topic is going to be the arts.
When the arts come up in conversation, a news article, from someone’s personal testimonial, or when I am simply touched through an artistic experience, it is not uncommon for me to cry, shriek, laugh loudly, jump up and down, get angry, whoop — whatever response is appropriate for the ultra-positive or ultra-negative nature of the moment. I can already envision my kids rolling their eyes, slinking out of the room and denying that they ever knew me.
Right now, however, my daughter is 18 months and my son is almost four. They get just as excited, if not more so, when the arts touch their lives. And no one is a harsher critic than a preschooler who doesn’t like a particular song, movie, story or painting. Young children seem to have an almost primal relationship with the arts, creating it and receiving it as a pure, unadulterated communication between human beings.
And even at their young ages, my kids have learned that they can make the most profound connection with their mom not through words, not through a hug, but through the arts.
The day after Labor Day was the first day of preschool for my son, Tyrian. It was a big day, but not the huge deal it might have been since Tyrian had participated in a summer program at the school he would be attending this fall. I wasn’t nervous about it, and Tyrian happily got up, got dressed, ate breakfast, grabbed his backpack and announced it was time to go.
When we arrived at school, the door wasn’t open yet and only one other mom and her daughter had arrived. That mom told me she had spent the entire weekend with her tummy in knots. I was grateful that I had been able to relax during my holiday weekend.
As kids started arriving, some were accompanied by both parents and grandparents. There was an excited buzz from most of the crowd. I hadn’t even thought to ask my husband if he wanted to come, or to invite the grandparents to be part of the entourage.
The teacher opened the door and the kids rushed to their cubbies to hang up their bags. Cameras were flashing as tots picked their first activity and dived right in. With the summer program under our belts, this was so old hat that I hadn’t even considered bringing a camera.
One or two moms started weeping a little when it was time to say goodbye. I can cry with the best of ‘em, but on this day, I was caught up in the fun and wonder of the bright and cheerful classroom.
Tyrian sat down at the art table, grabbed some colored pens and began drawing. He seemed settled to me, so I went over to kiss him goodbye.
“No, don’t leave yet,” he told me.
My stomach clenched. I thought, “Oh no, he’s more nervous than I thought.” In a millisecond I envisioned an ugly goodbye scene.
But Tyrian shoved the picture he was working on out of the way, got himself three fresh pieces of paper and whipped off three drawings. He gave them to me saying one was for me, one was for Daddy and one was for his sister. Having given me a bit of himself to tide me over until we were reunited in three hours, he off to play.
So it was I, the cucumber-cool Mommy, who went home weeping.