I just got back from a ceremony in the elementary school gym swearing in the 9 or so 5th graders who have volunteered to be bankers for the school bank, sponsored, of course, by a local bank here in town. Owen, coming from my ex’s house, was wearing a suitably banker-ish blue striped button down shirt over sports pants – very natty. The banker guy had them stand up and swear a mighty swear, “I promise to do my duty for the school bank and obey the rules,” something like that. Then they all got caps with the bank logo on them and got their pictures taken. Before the ceremony started, I had been looking around the school gym, thinking about how this is our last year here, and feeling a bit choked up.
I’ve gone from homeschooling to being pretty active in the school community. I hadn’t thought I’d ever put my guys in school. Divorce and many other complicating factors have dictated otherwise.
I am a bit more humble than I once was about parenting. When it comes to just being a human trying to get along. So I am happy to report that, although I felt incipient cynical rumblings about 5 bankers being in my baby’s elementary school with their predatory claws extended and a money-eating gleam in their eye, I shoved it down and allowed Owen his glorious moment, a huge proud grin on my face. He got sworn in, then rejoined his class, where his two buddies (Ms. Tomboy and Mr. Greek God) shoved and joshed him around.
I’m still grinning.
The Total Femme 