A Letter of Apology to School Moms
Believe me when I tell you I have a lot to be sorry for.
— -- (Editor's note: This article originally appeared on Babble.com. It has been reprinted here with permission. Disney is the parent company of both ABC News and Babble.)
Dear School Moms,
Yes, you! And you, and you, and you, and of course, you. Allow me to start off by saying I’m sorry. I’m sorry for so many things, and believe me when I tell you I have a lot to be sorry for.
You see, my son attended this elementary school for six years, and for six years I secretly judged you. I judged the coveted circle you stood in. I judged the inside information only you seemed to know. I judged your relationships with teachers, administrators, and yes, even students. I judged you because I didn’t know you, sure, but I really judged you because I was jealous.
I envied you walking your kids to the school gate while I commuted to work in traffic. I resented every forgotten lunch pail and homework assignment retrieved on a moment’s notice while I pounded a keyboard in my cubicle. I was jealous of your class volunteer efforts, chaperoned field trip memories, and presence at every student recognition assembly, no matter how small. I wanted what you had. I wanted my kid’s school to feel like a familiar stomping ground. I yearned for the camaraderie of my fellow school moms. I wished for my kid to be able to look out into a sea of parents and see me there every time. But I didn’t have those things, and your faces were the ones my kid saw.
Part of me wanted to know you, probably just so I could say I did. Maybe it was my inner 7th grade misfit hoping you’d notice me, maybe it was to boost my mom cred, or maybe it was to prove to myself that y’all weren’t worth knowing at all. It would have been easier that way, you know? If you ladies were rude or shamefully exclusive or only wore pink on Wednesdays, at least then I wouldn’t have felt like I was missing out on so much.
I wondered how I could ever break in when I never showed my face at school. Could we ever have something special, you and me? Could I offer a friendly “hello” and a nervous smile on an occasional day off or would it be met with an awkward pregnant pause? Would one of you say something like, “Who are you? We don’t see you around here, like ever”? Would I burst into tears because I knew that was true?
There was so much I wanted to say to you, school moms. There were so many questions — questions about science camp deposits and fundraising. Questions about classroom discipline methods and comprehensive spelling tests. But they were questions I never dared to ask because I didn’t know how, especially of you.
And then a few years ago, my face began to show up more. I left my commute and my job behind to focus on my kids. Suddenly, I was at school all the time. No longer was I the mom who’d wistfully peek over to your circle at the annual school program or rare school drop-off. I was as much of a school fixture as a hoodie cast aside on the blacktop or a chip bag blowing in the wind. Every once in a while, we’d spot each other and lock eyes. I’d smile, you’d return the favor, and we’d go back to not knowing each other, but not for lack of wanting to.
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