If the Shoe Fits?

It’s funny, now, to think about how I was in my youth and what I expect of my son.  Aside from the usual stuff like teaching him to be polite; to share with his friends; to be respectful of others; to clean up after himself, I also want him to be nicely, and appropriately, dressed.  Nicely dressed…what’s that about? 

I’ve always been one to sneer in the face of convention and have a solid appreciation for the rebel spirit.  As a teenager I thought I was one tough cookie in my Doc Martin’s, long underwear, knee-length cardigan and the ever-so-hip single, dangling, spider web earring. Every so often, when my son does something reminiscent of my own rebelliousness, I get that little youthful flare in my belly that says, “Yes! You go, Ev.”

Given my affinity for youthful rebellion, my reaction to my son’s attire as he greeted me at the airport last week upon my return from a two week business trip, doesn’t surprise me.  Just before he gave me an enormous hug I noticed he was wearing two different shoes.  I thought perhaps my husband was in a rush to get him out of the house and laughed as I pointed out the error. 

“Nope,” said my husband, “He wanted to wear two different shoes.” 

As he ran happily away with his silly looking feet I thought, big deal – what’s wrong with a trip to the airport in mismatched shoes?  I even had that little belly-flare thought, “You go, Ev!” 

But when I took Evan to school the next day, the teacher smiled and asked if I had been away.  I told her I had and that I meant to email her in advance just in case Evan had any issues at school due to changes at home - but she said he’d been very good.  She said it again, “But we had a feeling you were away.” 

I was puzzled by this.  Why would she think that?  Aside from a note she had sent while I was away saying Evan wasn’t wearing a heavy enough coat to school, it seemed like everything had pretty much been status quo.  Then it hit me…the shoes!  Had Evan been wearing mis-matched shoes to school as well?  Oh the horror!  Upon returning home I asked my husband if that was the case.  He said it was, adding, “What’s the big deal?” 

“What’s the big deal?  What’s the big deal?!”

Hmmmm, I thought…what IS the big deal? 

Why was it okay to be a little rebellious for an airport visit, but not a little rebellious everyday?  Why is it “you go, Ev,” one minute and “that’s not cool,” the next?  As I questioned myself, I realized that motherhood has definitely changed me.  I don’t want the school to think we’re neglectful parents.  I don’t want them to think I’m an inattentive or undisciplined mommy.  Holy cow - it was all about what they would think of me!  I’d never really cared outside of work, or outside of relationships, what anyone thought of me; of what I wore; or of what I believed or didn’t believe.  So why do I care when it comes to my boy?    

Maybe I don’t care what people think of Amy, but I do care what people think of me as a parent.  I really do.  So I can stomp around as loud as can be in my old Doc Martin’s but what matters most is that I’m seen as a good mom from the top of my little boy’s head to the tip of his matching shoes. It matters.  I’m the grown-up now and I understand why the conventions are…sigh…important.  Important, at least, to me.