Two Ordinary Outings.
This is the story of two family outings. The first was an ice-cream social at J’s new school. I am eager to support J’s burgeoning friendships, so we went in hopes of meeting a few classmates. I set up camp against the building, where everyone was balancing the competing pressures of social distancing while staying in the shade. J ran off to the bounce-house while I watched. I watched the PTA “mom in charge” circulate a sign-in sheet to arriving families. I watched her chit-chat with another parent - apparently both have high-schoolers and littles. I hollered to J, making sure she wasn’t getting trampled. Mostly - I just sat there.
Soon enough M and P joined us with snacks from the food trucks. We ate and watched. Eventually we walked over to the lawn games and half-heartedly threw beanbags for a few minutes. P had the most fun chasing down rouge bags and plopping them directly into the hole. That was pretty much it. Sadly, J didn’t spy anyone from her class, and the only person we talked to was behind the PTA table. I had hoped to feel some sort of communal belonging, but no such luck.
The second outing was to a nearby park. This particular playground is tucked away in a new-ish development, so it isn’t as crowded as our neighborhood playground. In fact, there was only one other kiddo playing this morning. As we approached, I noticed something familiar in his grownup’s features. Not wanting to make assumptions, I stayed with my girls, but my ears were on alert. Sure enough, as she directed her grandson to wait his turn, I heard her speaking Russian. For context, we live DEEP in the suburbs where ethnic diversity is much more a concept than a reality. In other words - I RARELY hear anything but English on these tucked-away playgrounds. I immediately jumped in with, “Oh, you speak Russian” (said in Russian), and she beamed surprise in my direction. She asked if I lived around here, and the conversation proceeded from there.
Within ten minutes I learned that her daughter had been here for more than a dozen years, but she’s only three years in. She feels deeply isolated in this place with, “more dogs than people” as she doesn’t drive or speak much English. I shared that my mom was similarly surprised when we first arrived in CA, but now we’re all pretty accustomed to this non-city lifestyle. I told her that there is a bigger Russian-speaking community in Denver-proper, but not in the suburbs. She continued to share about her struggles, but then brightened exclaiming, “I have goosebumps just hearing you speak!”.
Our kids continued to play, and our conversation followed their rhythm, flowing in and out as kids do. After an hour, she loaded her grandson into their stroller. Nodding goodbye, she hesitantly asked, “So you come here on the weekends?”. There was such an earnestness to her voice in that moment. I should have offered my phone number, reassurance, something, but I didn’t.
Now I’m reflecting and kicking myself. I was craving connection at the social, but when presented with authenticity on the playground, I missed it. How does the person writing this particular blog miss that particular moment?!!
“Sometimes the very thing you’re looking for is the one thing you can’t see.”
- Vanessa Williams
And that’s my story. There’s nothing particularly new in the idea that sometimes we’re looking so hard, we miss what is right in front of us. So if you need me next Sunday, I’ll probably be at that tucked-away playground hoping to build community in my actual neck of the woods.
Toddler adaptation of lawn games, 2021.
