October 26, 2005

  • Class Wars

    Last night Ms. 7's all-3rd-grade soccer team, in the sleet and the
    near-dark, tied 1-1 with the all-4th-grade opponents who whupped 'em
    flat last time.  WhooHooo!  (I mean, not that it's all about winning, or anything; no, definitely not) 
    Her team is strong enough to equal the bigger kids, and I'm proud of
    them all.  But being a soccer parent has also raised the ragged spectre of a different sort of class war.

    I dragged out my high school year book this morning
    and showed it to Ms. 7 over her Wheaties.  "See -- this is me when
    I was a senior.  I look a lot different, don't I?  And this
    guy?  Who do you think he is?"  "I don't know."  "You
    see him every Tuesday and Thursday night."  "Uh -- I don't know,
    mom."  "He's one of your coaches, honey -- Joey's dad.  He
    looks a lot different too, huh?"

    Brad, the volunteer coach, and I, jogging in place on the sidelines
    and rubbing our icy hands, exchange pleased but uneasy glances over the
    heads of our kids.  Brad stubs his cigarette butt out on his boot
    and carefully blows the last wisps of smoke downwind.  "She's done
    a great
    job!" he enthuses to me, his broad weathered face smiling and his
    voice over-hearty.  "Joey's the fastest runner we've got!" I
    return, equally uncertain.

    If Brad and I hadn't sat in home room two desks apart, thirty years
    ago, there wouldn't be any issues in our relationship.  If I'd
    moved from another state, or he'd attended a different high school, there'd be no problem whatsoever about
    bonding over the kids' successes.  We'd share proud parenting and
    that would be it.

    But Brad and I have a deeper and more complex history than that. 
    To me and my friends, back then, he was one of "them," and vice-versa.    "We" scorned how "they" spoke, what they
    drove, how they approached learning, and how they spent their leisure hours.  The scorn was entirely
    mutual.  And all that learned mistrust and dislike is what trembles uneasily in
    the air between us now.

    Today, Brad and I would like to like each other.  We'd like our
    kids to like each other too.  We'd like our kids to play well
    together and enjoy the team together and never look each other in the eye and think: "Them." 

    Somehow, though, us two white Protestant Midwestern Americans with
    all the good will in the world, across that absurdly wide gulf
    of economic status, educational choices, and (most tellingly of all) historical distrust, still find it tougher
    than it
    should be.  And if there's uneasiness in the air between us two
    peas-in-a-pod on the same field standing in the same rain -- how, for
    the love of man, can we hope for easy understanding between those with greater differences?

Comments (19)

  • you know, ...maybe those with greater differences try just a little harder (or at least i'd like to think so).....

    man -o- man.............standing in the freezing rain......what a mom!!!!!!

  • I keep thinkin' "trust but verify". Yeah, that even goes for social strata.

    I wonder what a cop would have to say about that. Maybe Brad IS a cop. No?

  • very interesting... crazy to think of it that way.

  • 'can't help but think of this novel, while reading about you and Brad and the chasm still between you...

    if you haven't read it-- I've a feeling you might enjoy doing so.

  • having always lived a middle-class existence with VERY limited exposure to the less fortunate side (okay, let's say it - I grew up WAY sheltered), I cannot quite relate to this. But in my adult life, having struggled, and having lived in some really seedy places, I have some perspective... And I hope that you two become a little closer.

  • ryc: I have no clue where the other 80% is! Lost forever, I suppose.

  • ryc: I think it's completely scientific. Especially the other quiz, which shows what I will go to jail for - tax fraud by sex toys writeoff. I can totally see that happening.

  • You can't leave me comments while I'm leaving you comments!

  • ryc: I think your 20% must be wonder bread, toasted. That only makes sense.

  • that was the weirdest thing about my high school reunion, trying to get it into my head that the people in that room with me were not the same people that i'd gone to school with - that, in fact, i wasn't the same either - and i should stop thinking of them in terms of Jock, Cheerleader, etc.  and of course there was the voice in the back of my head whispering they're not really that different.  perception is a weird thing.  and first impressions, man, are hard to shake.  maybe by the end of the season, the line will have blurred enough that you can have a conversation. 

  • i still believe high school instills certain judgements in us, we'll never truly rid ourselves of.  and we were never taught that they were wrong, they have been for us to figure that out as adults.

  • Man, I've always had "them" issues.  I can pick "them" out before they even breathe...  and I was hostile to "them" then and it's no better now.

    The difference is need and want.  I was happy with my needs being met, but they had to prove they were better, because their wants were being met.  I didn't need that.  They wanted me to see it.  Needs and wants.

  • glad the kids did well, and you're a great soccer mom! Hope you and Brad can get on - I'm sure you will, the willingness is there to overcome whatever there is between you, or that's how it seems to me from all this distance away.  Good luck.

  • Very thoughtful assessment of the problem -- thanks for sharing it, and for laying it out so dispassionately.

  • and I think that, recognizing the effect of the history, the assumed differences, the desire to move onward, the uneasy peace between you is a wonderful beginning step toward communication and change. I see it as a sign of hope.

  • It's so hard to let the past go.  I find myself at class reunions doing just the same thing.  We're all taking- it's been over 15 years for goodness sake, but as I'm there in the moment I know that drill team captain is sizing me up as the choir/drama queen I once was and I size her up for the bimbo/dance guru she once was, while we banter on in conversaition and pretend we were once friends.  It's so hard to put high school behind us, even 15, 30 years later, because it made an impact in the most temultuos times in our lives.  No matter how far we get from 17, the impact of those people during that time in our lives never leaves us.  I don't think we judge anyone as strongly as we do the ones that we had a connection with during our pubescent years.  So in this aspect I would disagree.  I can love, embrace, or forgive just about anyone who I have met (or haven't met since then,) but to put those differences behind me will always be a struggle.  Sometimes we think, "oh, if I could just do it all over again..."  Maybe you would have been friends with the future soccer coach, but we don't know what any of us will become in 20 years and it's the walls we built as teenagers that keep us in our box as adults.  It's such an impact!  I need to remember to share this with my sons as they become teenagers.  This is a really good reminder!  I love your perspective!  I think we all feel it from time to time. [v]

  • Seeing the differences is a great first step.  Here's hoping each generation have more and more in common and less division.

  • In my closest relationship, I have the greatest difficulty persuading that there is no war, it is only us, and it hurts to speak, time and again, that I'm not trying to fight, so please don't try to fight me. Anyhow, I definitely understand your meaning.

  • Good stuff, as usual.  I'd like to think all my high school issues are over after more than 27 years, but they still hang on.

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