Lion and Magic Boy

By the way, I should tell you that today I am writing from sunny Vancouver, having arrived here last night after only a “slight” (3 hour) delay connecting in Chicago. And my hair really really likes it here, in fact I have never had such excellent hair, so I’m afraid I am going to have to stay.

Can we talk about my trip? Sure, you’re a captive audience, why not?

TIP: When parking off-airport anywhere near New York, you should expect a New York Experience.

I wish someone had told me that before I stepped out of my car inside a chain-link fence next to a tiny broken-down charmingly and helpfully labeled “Office”. There were New Yorkish guys roaming around, one loading catering trays into a van. They ignored me. I looked around for Tony Soprano. Finally one New York Guy told me to park my car, which I did, and I got out my bags. Another guy stepped up and grabbed one of my bags, which had suddenly become very very important to me, something from which I was reluctant to part. I told him I had a coupon and wanted to park there (duh). He gave me a withering glance presumably usually reserved for people insulting his hair and told me, like EVERYONE ALREADY KNOWS THIS, that I should take my coupon to the office. Duh.

So I get all New York back with him and tell him that he should COMMUNICATE, that this is not OBVIOUS TO EVERYONE, and he accuses me of yelling at him. Good. So we know where we stand.

At the office, another New York Guy was sitting down, eating something out of a “to go” container. He ignored me. Then Mr. Slick called me over to the counter, and again treated me as if Everyone But You Knows How To Do This Parking Thing. I surrendered my key (my key!) and received a flimsy slip of paper in return. Which may or may not be exchanged at some later date for my key again and, presumably, the car that goes with it. I should have taken another key with me, but who knew?

Then I’m struck with the realization that Patronizing New York Guy is also my driver, which means that my life and my timely arrival at the airport are both in his hands. Great. If it wasn’t for the TSA guy also riding in the van along with his catering trays, I figured I’d end up in the river somewhere with concrete boots on.

But actually Patronizing NY Guy was quite nice, despite leaving me miles from where I needed to go in the terminal, so I figure he must be used to the New York Treatment.

So I could write about my search for an available electrical outlet for my laptop in the airport in Chicago, or about the marathon tarmac session as we sat, stranded in a thunderstorm and hours after it passed, waiting our turn to take off, or about the AMAZING beauty of the mountains seen from my 30,000-foot vantage point all contrast in dark and light, the waning sun lighting the snow on the peaks, BUT NO!

Instead I am going to write about Eric.

Why not?

Last Friday was the last day of school for Nathaniel and Serena, and yes it has dawned on me that my available bike-riding time will be severely curtailed as a result, but hey, this isn’t about ME, IS IT?? NO!

On the last day was a two-hour assembly showcasing all the work done by each grade this year. Sounds interminable, does it? I can assure you that it was touching, humorous, and illuminating.

But the best part was Eric.

I think I’ve mentioned before that Eric likes to connect with people, haven’t I? When he was very small and I wore him in a sling, he’d telepathically call people over so he could get a look at them. When he was a little bigger, last year in Colorado, it was apparent that he loved connecting. Still riding in the sling, he’d throw out his arms to certain people he picked out, asking for hugs. Once in Large Discount Chain Store That Shall Remain Nameless, he made a worker there cry. She came up to him and, thinking he was a girl, likened him to her dead niece, and all of a sudden I was standing there while a woman in a blue smock wept and hugged my son. If I hadn’t yet known about Eric’s mission in life, I knew then: he’s here to connect.

And he knows how to work a room.

A bit bored of sitting on my lap and watching the children’s performances, Eric decided to go see various people. At times, even for long stretches, I didn’t have sight of him in the crowd of parents sitting on hard metal folding chairs, intently fixated on their children so proudly singing in Spanish or reciting lengthy verse or playing flutes. But I always knew where he was. One parent or another would make eye contact with me above everyone’s head and signal wordlessly, often with just a raised eyebrow or a simple nod, that Eric was with them, down at Eric-level where I couldn’t see. He was passed around, making his way as he pleased from one parent to another. I heard that he was especially fascinated by the piano player and stood there at the keyboard while she played, transfixed. He also enjoyed the African song performed by the 8th grade and some jamming parents, and I believe would have liked getting on the stage to dance with them.

But it dawned on me that day what a true community this school is. Due to circumstance I’ve backed away from it quite a bit compared to the level of participation I had a few years ago, but the community is still just as warm and welcoming to me, to Nathaniel and Serena, and to Eric as they always were. He connected with parents last Friday that he hadn’t really met before, or who only knew him from when he was a tiny sling-carried fragile thing, yet his gifts were seen, appreciated, and embraced He loved and was loved in return.

I know this wouldn’t happen in a public school, as wonderful as many of them are. I feel lucky to have this community as a resource, even if I’m not taking full advantage of it just now. It’ll be there for me when I’m ready again to allow it to embrace me, just as it is there for Nathaniel and Serena, holding them in loving expectation, and one day for Eric as well.

[tags]travel; airports; New York; Vancouver; good hair; Waldorf education; Waldorf schools; community[/tags]