Sit Down! Some Rules Are Made to Be Broken
Sit Down!
I look over at the Mom who has shouted my words at exactly the same time, like some sort of mommy jinx. We are both pushing carts full of squirming masses of childish opposition down the aisle at Costco. Our kids are overflowing the back of the cart, sitting in each other’s laps and bouncing up and down like little bungee cords that never tire. I could see we were facing the same challenge, our carts so full of unmanageable child that there was little room or patience left for necessities like milk and eggs. That Mom and I gave each other the acknowledgment of a weary smile as our words echoed each other. I’m sure we were both thinking the same thing.
Why the hell do I bother? I sound like a fucking broken record. And they never listen anyway. I nodded at her in solidarity and we bustled past one another.
As we approached the checkout, I could see the middle aged female cashier giving my daughter the once over. My wild, unruly challenge of a four year old girl with fine, flyaway hair that surrounds her head like a golden halo and a decidedly unangelic stubborn streak. She’s standing in the cart, ready to pop up and throw things onto the belt like a bodybuilder heaving weights at the gym. My girl’s strong, lithe body doesn’t give even a hint of a waver as I nudge the cart forward, watching her balance on her toes in preparation for a flurry of activity. But I can see it in the cashier’s eyes. I know exactly what she is going to say. It’ll be an admonishment to sit down, the chiding masked in friendly overtones. And I know my daughter’s reaction to even the mildest rebuke from a stranger.
The way her face will puddle with disappointment and then slide into tears.
“Sit down.” I singsong firmly, nodding towards the cashier who is waiting for us to pull the cart forward. “Or you won’t be able to help.”
It’s the expectation, right? Safety first, people. Keep your hands and feet inside the vehicle. Have a nice life.
When I urge my daughter to sit down, I don’t do it for her safety though. I trust in her strong, capable body and her fearless sense of perfect balance. She does, too. I tell her to sit down because I have to. Because it’s easier to follow the rules than hold up under the glare of a stranger’s judgement. But every time I do it, I squirm a little with guilt. I want my daughter to appreciate her body with an unbridled sense of enthusiasm and joy. For all the things it can do and all the places it will carry her. I want her to try new things, savor challenges and have the opportunity to learn from her mistakes. But I feel like we’re always swimming upstream against a current of well-meaning misunderstanding.
We say we want our children to grow into strong, capable, confident people. But all day long we incessantly tell them to sit down and shut the fuck up.
We teach them in a thousand ways that there are rules. And that there is no room or acceptance for people who don’t follow them. We want our sons and daughters to grow up to challenge the world, to change it with their brilliant energy and unquenchable ambition. And I feel like I spend many moments as a parent walking a tightrope, wondering if I am dousing the fire of that motivation, minute by minute, with every arbitrary rule I bow down to.
Don’t climb up the slide, don’t talk during circle, don’t run in the parking lot and for the millioneth fucking time- sit down!
Once we pass the cool cement foyer of Costco, my daughter stands in the cart, crouched on her thighs like a surfer on a board, riding the waves of bumps as we speed down the lot toward our car. I watch her hair whip back from her face, joy etched in every feature as she delights in her balance, in the rhythm of the challenge that every lurch and rise provides. I pick up pace and do what I always tell my kids never to do. I run in the parking lot, one foot up on the front metal brace and the other extended, pedaling to give us more speed. When we reach the car we are both laughing breathlessly and I take her in my arms and swing her around.
By her arms, god damn it.
Because I want her to hear this message loud and clear. Some rules are made to be broken.
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