Purple People Eater

I cannot count how many attempts I've made at posting over the past few months, only to give up or find a different task that requires my immediate and undivided attention (you know, like saving Bee from choking on a Lego...or reminding Connor that wearing a helmet is definitely important while riding his scooter, but he might also want to consider real shoes and a shirt as well.  Road rash is a bitch).

Back to school is right around the corner.  With that in mind, I've found myself conflicted about Connor's last year in elementary school.  I feel myself desperately clinging to the memories of his first day of kindergarten and keeping up a constant stream of "I love you", "Do you want to hang out?", "What are you doing?", "Can I sit with you?", "I need a hug"...I'll admit, he's probably more than a little annoyed with my incessant chattiness and need for constant communication.

Connor has always been an old soul.  It still startles me at times--to have this boy (with big blue eyes who was just ninja-ing his way down the stairs) open his mouth and verbalize some of the most articulate thoughts I've ever been privileged enough to hear.

Case in point: I took Connor and Matthew school supply shopping.  Between plying Matthew with blueberry puffs (organic, okay?) so he'd refrain from launching his meltdown from a stage 2 to a full-blown 10 and chasing Connor around the store while he skateboarded with the cart, I was honestly about ready to walk right out the door.

In the middle of my 10 second meditation in the writing supply aisle, Connor found me.  I opened one eye, praying that he had found the last item on the list so we could wrap this party up.  Of course, this was not the case.  He HAD found the last item (and an additional three more that he NEEDED).  It was a 3-ring binder.  It was purple.  Bright purple.  Along with that, he had also decided he would swap out the traditional black and white composition notebooks for...purple composition notebooks.  I was frozen.  It seemed like hours passed by as Connor excitedly held up his newest acquisitions for me to admire.

Why wasn't I high-fiving him and throwing those bad boys in the cart?  Where was this trepidation coming from?  Why was I thinking of ANYTHING to distract Connor and instead swap out the purple binder for a blue (or green) binder?

I was paralyzed.  Frozen with fear because my beautiful, self-confident, brilliant and charming boy was choosing purple school supplies.  Here was this amazing child I have put blood, sweat, tears, laughter, hugs, prayers and songs into for ten years showing me (ME!  The parent!) and laying bare a shortcoming and ignorance of my own that I had not been aware of until this very moment.

Connor felt and saw my hesitation.  He asked me, "Mama?  Are these okay?".  The initial spark of excitement in his eyes faded into hesitation and his face was instead marked with a desire for approval. A desire his mom to tell him that it was okay.  

People say that when you are on death's door, your life flashes before your eyes--you see all the decisions you made, the people you love.  I definitely wasn't dying in Office Depot.  Instead, my eyes and heart were opened wider than I ever imagined.  I remembered applauding Connor for choosing to wear a full suit and tie for his Mother's Day Tea in first grade.  Clapping and taking pictures of him as a two year-old at soccer rolling around on the ball as the other kids lined up and ran through drills.  Thanking God every night that Connor is secure in himself enough to tow the moral line, even if it means alienating himself from his peers.

Connor then asked such an honest question that my heart broke as disappointment flooded my being...he said, "Mom--you don't believe in a gender color bias, right?".  Suddenly, my mind was clear.  Of course I don't believe in "gender color bias".  As a matter of fact, I rarely wear pink (or purple for that matter).  I don't cut Bee's hair and I'll admit--more than once, a stranger has commented on my "beautiful daughter" to which I say thank you and move on (I change the kid's diapers, I know he's a boy!).

I realized that my fear was that Connor would be ostracized and made fun of by his fellow classmates.  My hesitation didn't come from a fear that my son was choosing a damn purple binder, it came from the simple fact that I want to protect him from anything or anyone that could cause him pain or break his soul.  I also realized that Connor was completely OKAY with what he had chosen.  So, who was the real bully?  The peers that have yet to show their mean streak or ignorance?  Or the mom who is so afraid of being different?

My mind cleared.  I took the binder and notebooks from Connor and admired them.  I made sure that he was okay with what he had chosen.  And then, we checked out.  Just like that.  Connor happily helped bag his loot and load it into the car.  As we drove home, I tiled the rearview mirror to look at him.  I saw a boy that is growing into the most amazing young man.  Pride and love washed through my soul.  Connor is Connor--and always will be.  He marches to his own drum, stands strong in his choices and beliefs.  As a parent, I can't ask for anything more to find pride in.

As a pre-school teacher of Connor's once said, "To know Connor is to love Connor".  I couldn't say it better myself.