The Tea Party

Out of nowhere my daughter got the idea that she wanted to have a tea party with her Nonna (grandmother) this weekend. It was a cute idea. Except that I wasn't sure from where the thought came. My daughter always looks at me with mild disturbance and disgust when I tell her I am having a cup of tea. The one time I let her try an herbal tea, she informed me, “When I grow up, I might like it.”

Friday evening she notified me that she would like to have a tea party with Nonna. When we woke up Saturday morning, after telling me ‘good morning’, she reminded me that we needed to get ready for the party. We walked to the store to get some cookies and crackers. I informed her that a staple of tea parties were tea sandwiches. She looked at me like I was inventing this information right out of my head. She attempted a compromise by saying ‘we could have cheese on the crackers’. I will never say no to cheese and crackers so I said we would try that this time around.

We made our way to Nonna’s house. We told Nonna we had come over to have a tea party but Nonna wasn’t really up to it. So M turned to her aunt and said ‘Well, you could come to the tea party!’ Auntie seemed thrilled to be included.

I cut a few apples and pears (I was trying to have some healthy food). I put out the cookies and the crackers. I slices a few pieces of cheese while the water boiled. I parsed out the hot water into mugs (I didn’t have tea cups!) each with a tea bag. I let M’s tea brew for only a few moments while the other mugs sat the full time.

Apparently while I was preparing all the food, a few guests arrived. My daughter’s entourage of My Little Ponies and Care Bear figures were sitting at the table waiting for the snacks. They were not the most polite group. They did enjoy the cookies but thought the tea was a bit bitter. I could see they were having an influence over my daughter. She sips a tiny bit of the tea and made a face as if I had served her sewer water. Oh well, I tried. She ate all the pear and a bunch of crackers. The party posse decided that they would rather fight criminals and show their super powers so they didn’t nibble on much.

The day after the party my daughter said we should try to have a tea party again soon and invite some other friends. “Hey! Why not?” I told her. I’d be happy to have some other human interaction while enjoying some tea sandwiches the next time around. 

The Problem of Parenting

I love my daughter. I think the world of her and always want to be a model to her. But there are days, like today, where I really hate being a parent.

I accompanied her into her classroom and she walked over to her table. Her chair had been moved from where it was usually placed. She asked me why and I responded by letting her know that it was probably moved to allow all the kids to put their rest mats into the space behind her chair. She seems satisfied with that answer and began to do her morning work. I walked over to the cubby holes to put her back pack and jacket away. When I returned to her table, I saw that her table mate was pushing her chair, with her trying to sit in it, away. Of course, my daughter began to cry. This was a very obvious sign of bullying and of her table mate being shitty jerk. I went over to her and told her that we could move her chair so that there was space between her and her class fellow. She cried into my shoulder.

I told her that it was not a nice thing that had happened and she had every right to cry. But that she was a strong and smart girl and she had every right to be at the table. That she needed to continue to do her work even if her table mate was not nice to her.

As I heard these words, “lessons”, come out of my mouth, I felt fake. And I was enraged. I wanted to tell her to punch him. And if she didn’t do it, I would. I wanted to give that boy a verbal lashing that would remind him for years to come that he was a selfish and inconsiderate moron. Why was I teaching her to be docile and submissive when I didn’t feel like it made a single difference in the world? When I have learned that being ‘nice’ is code word for ‘we can treat you like crap because you won’t say anything’?

Of course I was projecting my anger onto this situation but why shouldn’t I? Here was a perfect example of someone making my daughter feel small and weak. Hadn’t this been the way things happened over the centuries. Treat those that are kind and nice in a bad way. My daughter has a big heart. I love her for that. She always shares with others. She often points out when others need help from teachers or adults. She is kind and attentive to others. But shouldn’t she be a little selfish and attend to herself first? What exactly was I trying to teach her by taking the high road? How had that worked for anyone in the history of this country, in the last few months of this world? NOTHING!

As I walked out of the classroom, I notified the teacher and the assistant of what had happened. They noticed that my daughter was crying but didn’t know the reason. So I informed them. You know what? If I can’t punch this kid in the face, I’ll report him to the authorities. Isn’t that how whistleblowing happens? After all, isn’t there an advertisement in the subways that says “if you see something, say something”? I felt slightly vindicated by my actions.

I seethed as I walked to the subway. I really wanted to punch someone. Hopefully, my desire to inflict physical pain on someone will subside. But the lesson I learned from today’s incident is that I will have to speak up more to the ridiculously cruel and inconsiderate behavior that has been so prevalent in recent years. Only if we point out cruelty will there be a hope of it stopping. So what if I become a tattle tale? Aren’t there really powerful people out there who have been whistleblowers? I’ll consider myself one of them.