Kindergarten Ideal

Contemplating life between reality and the ideal has me comparing situations for their potential placement. For example, cooking, for me, lives well within the world of the ideal. I have time, space and creative energy all to myself and then I get to share the fruits of this pleasure with my loved one. And, as if that wasn’t enough, it’s okay to ask if they liked it. But getting myself to the ideal state of cooking means I have to navigate the world of reality, known as menu planning, a task best left to those who enjoy relating to a mime in a box, and then grocery shopping, a small stopping point in between. I know that most people do not like grocery shopping, but for me it’s a moment, well an hour, of unbridled creativity as I make my way through the veggies, fruits, cheeses, breads and other fresh ingredients to sort out what I want to make or the variations of what I’ve already planned. But having to do that with child in tow, and then there is the checkout, loading and driving, not to mention having to put everything away, and by the end I’m usually feeling pretty harried.

One of my favorite contemplations has become kindergarten. My son comes home with tales of his life in another world. He lives in a place where you cannot tell secrets, you are not allowed to judge each other by superficial characteristics and more to the point, you are expected to accept each other for your differences.

Recently a new girl moved to my son’s school and joined his class. His teacher prepared the students to welcome the newcomer, a personal guide for the new child was assigned and everyone was a twitter with excitement. When she arrived, the children were enamored with her. There was some curiosity for where she came from, and everyone was excited to know her. When we arrived at school on her first morning, in the middle of our Spring semester, even the other parents made a nice showing. There was a circle of mom’s talking with the new girl’s mother and everyone seemed to be enjoying getting to know someone new. I wonder how differently that would play out in sixth grade or tenth.

The most striking “life in the ideal” scenario that plays out everyday in my son’s class is that his teacher has coached the children that there is no such thing as perfect. She is so diligent about this message that anytime anyone says that something is perfect my son will retort, “there’s no such thing as perfect.” Yes, he will say this in the store when we find a warm jacket, after a haircut and even at the dinner table, to my chagrin. It took me a while, but now I say that his homework is “excellent!”, as is my cooking.

Sitting at my desk each morning, faced with the day’s fires ablaze and waiting for my attention, bookings, articles and communications, I contemplate this idea that there is no perfect. I wonder what my perfectionist of a boss would think if I told her that there is no perfect.

Children, lucky children, those in my small town and hopefully most children, live within the world of the ideal. Not to say that their lives are perfect. I can attest to that every time I have to drive my son to his dad’s house and leave him to be put to bed by someone else, to sleep through the night without my midnight kisses, to be bathed, fed and read to by someone other than his mother. But children are resilient, they seem to be able to live with tragedy or “less than” with great happiness and hope. They find ways to cope and integrate these less than ideal realities as life and go on in their world of the ideal. I’m sure some of this “strength” to tarry on is because they are bombarded with these messages of life as ideal, these messages that you don’t tell secrets in front of friends because it will hurt their feelings, that going to a new school will be okay and you’ll be accepted because it’s the right thing, that there is no perfect and failure is simply a springboard to learn from. They receive and willingly accept these messages that life is that black and white, and at least for now, at least in kindergartens it is.

As adults, most people know that telling secrets is hurtful, but they also think they can’t be heard whispering. When you move, or rather, start a new job, you usually have to prove yourself before people will accept you. And while there really isn’t any such thing as perfect, you’d better plead your case that your work breaks that rule if you want to stay ahead of the curve. Of course, in this last example, a lesson from my dad comes to mind. He has always told me that most people do C jobs, so if you do your best it will surly be an A, since most bosses have only seen C jobs. But that’s for another essay.

In the end, I have to admit that I tell my son to stay a kid as long as he can. I tell him what I wish the grown ups in my life had told me. You’re only a kid for a short time and then you’re an adult for a very long time. This is a big message and needs to be repeated. You are an adult for a long time… and there’s a lot of paperwork involved.