Are you ready for something that gets on my last good nerve? People are obsessed with babies and toddlers but look right over other kids. Why do we do this? I noticed it the first time when my oldest was almost four. He's got my hair, and no one in Manhattan or Brooklyn could cut it properly. We went to one of those ridiculous Kidz Cutz type places with cars for seats, and they gave the poor child a long bob, and when I tell you it was stacked in the back like T-Boz, I am not playing.
We tried a fancy pants stylist to the stars, a barber in Harlem that had never cut a white kid's hair, and performed a few at-home "clean-up" cuts. The same thing happened to me in NY because so few people know what to do with a thick head of hair. If you don't get these strands in the right hands, these folks keep cutting and hacking, and next thing you know, a foot of blonde locks are on the ground, and you got a long bob like your four-year-old. #twins
He was still adorable (I was not), and the image of him bopping down the street in his school uniform on 116th and Adam Clayton is forever mine. And thank God pregnancy makes my hair grow like a weed because, before long, I had a six-month-old in a baby carrier and a little nugget next to me holding my hand to get on the train.
Everywhere we went, people oohed and aahed over our baby. Eventually, my older kid would get a nod, a "what's up," or a small acknowledgment. I'm guilty of this too. Babies are squishy and sweet and don't talk back, give you a side-eye, or say totally inappropriate things to strangers. To most people who are not their caregivers, they're easy.
Last Saturday, our oldest (now almost eight) had his first time trial for summer swim meets. The heats are for five-six, seven-eight, nine-ten, on up until 17-18. The parents are loosely engaged, chasing children, drinking coffee (because it's 7:30 am), and complaining to each other about many things. But hear me when I tell you, when the five and six-year-olds have to swim across our 25-meter pool, the parents are on their feet, standing around both sides, shouting and cheering them on. Why?
Because the littles are the worst. You should see them trying. Their swimming is shameful. They stop to cry on the side of the pool and roll over on their back to float when they're tired. Instead of staying inside the lane markers, they use them for smoke breaks. Swimmers under seven are pathetic. And cute. Unbelievably cute.
So we die inside over their adorable selves and get up to cheer because how can they be out with their tiny legs chugging along while a barbarian volunteer parent times them? Who is expecting them to get to the finish line? It's so far! Let that baby cry and take a float break! Give them a snack and water! They deserve it!!!
But when they age? Fuhgeddaboudit. Get it together, Mack and Sarah. You're seven now. These trials are serious. Do you want to go to the Olympics or not? And excuse me, Lindsey and Diego, it might be a hot July moon now that you're seventeen, but we are not impressed with you. You've been swimming since you were six, and we expect you to swim this 50 free as though your life depends on it. No breaks! No snacks!
Why don’t we extend kindness, wonder, and encouragement to anyone over five?
Who made us like this? Is it capitalism? Is it middle-aged?
My dear friend Lynette loves gymnastics, and I got to attend a meet with her at UCLA. First of all, that university literally has Olympians on their team (definitely been tumbling since they were wee little babes, absolutely no snacks, no breaks, I assume). Second, I knew I would love it because I love her, but I didn’t expect to get teary over the team’s camaraderie.
Those girls are loud and connected and serious about hyping up their crew. Here’s what they do: Memorize each other’s floor routines. Stand in the corner and along the edges where teammates stick the landings and perform. Lock eyes with a fierce “I got you” face. And dance the routine, so the one competing knows they are not alone.
There is a drought of encouragement and hype and a sicko expectation for people to carry on and do hard work during hard times with absolutely no one to acknowledge it.
As a matter of fact, I do want a medal. I want a medal for you, too. I want to stand on the side of the pool, holding a sign with your name, shouting while you take smoke breaks, and rest on your back so you can make it all the way. I’d like to learn your routine and body roll back at you and lock my eyes onto yours to remind you that I’ve got you. It would be a joy to tell you to live another day, to point out that everything you do today matters.
Every adult needs a hype squad who is not expecting them to carry on doing every damn thing like it’s no big deal.
In these times, doing anything is a big deal. You went to work? Good for you! Look at you making things, leading, and dealing with difficult people. Thank you. You stood up for yourself? Yes, you did, of course, because you’re valuable and worth it, and I’m glad you know it. You stayed sober one more day? Thank you for sharing. I see you. I’m proud of you. Yelled at your kids today? Cussed someone out in traffic? Spent more money than you had? Barely got out of bed? Came close to (or had) a relapse? YOU’RE STILL HERE, AND I AM SO GLAD. You live to fight another day. It’s okay to fail. You get to try again, begin again and hope again. You are not alone.
What if we treated each other the way we treat the littles?
I’m not talking about parenting adults or not being honest, responsible, or accountable. You’re grown, I’m grown, we’re all grown. I am curious if our serotonin levels would skyrocket with consistent encouragement, wonder, and kindness. What could happen if we felt connected and cultivated a shared sense of belonging and passion for how our friends, family, and coworkers take up space?
That feels like the essence of neighborliness to me. Snacks! Breaks! Cheers! Not all of us are going to the Olympics, but everyone gets a turn. Everyone has a place. Everyone over and under five gets to be celebrated and loved. We all get to be seen with a fierce “I got you” face, and we are excited to return the sentiment because we are held in the love of the community.
That is my dream for the neighborhood. Lofty and fluffy. Rich and deep. Most of all, it is possible and necessary. I don’t know how we get there, but I know we’re on the way. You’re a big deal. I’m glad you’re here. Consider us members of your hype squad.
Will you tell us what kind of cheer you need right now? What ordinary things do you need to be recognized? What massive something did you accomplish? Help us see you and celebrate you today.
Here’s mine: I celebrated six months of pivoting my entire career last week after twenty years of an entirely different pursuit. I’m so proud of that. Can’t wait to hear yours.
I've thought about this often. I notice it when I only have my littlest with me versus when I have all three of my kiddos. Everyone stops to comment on just how adorable he is -- his life is celebrated by strangers. Then, when I have all three kids or one of my oldest; it is silence. It fascinates me. All that to say -- I miss people celebrating for no good reason and for good reason, too. Have the senses dulled? Does Social Media make accomplishment seem as common as a pb&j? Idk. It seems that way. I'm celebrating having spent the last 6 months becoming healthy and strong -- and in three weeks, I'll be running my first half-marathon. I never thought I could feel that way again, or that it would ever be possible to run 10 or 13 miles at once. I'm proud of that.
Wow Ashley, 6 months on the new career journey!!! Way to go :)