Polaroid Moment

Kids have to walk their own path. They have no obligation to relive their parents’ journey.

April 2004

I wanted Kelsey to have something that her siblings didn’t. With Kat and Greg there would always be soccer, track and baseball but Kelsey wasn’t interested in sports. We had her in T-ball for a day and then she told me she wanted to quit. I was about to go the way of most parents and announce that we finish what we start but instead I asked her why she wanted to quit.
“I don’t like it.”
“Don’t like it?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Do you feel like you gave it a chance?”
“Yes, but I don’t like it.”
“How long have you felt like this?”
“A long time.”
“You mean you knew you didn’t like it before you even started?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Then why did you go out?”
“I like the hat.”
“Because of the hat? What did you like about the hat?”
“The pretty color. And the shirt, too.” She was four and a half at the time so I let her slide. Later on she did play softball in elementary school and volleyball in middle school but she never caught the sports virus; the bug never really bit her.
Finding Kelsey’s thing, or rather, giving Kelsey enough opportunities for her to find her thing was always in the back of my mind. I was impressed when in the fourth grade she took an art class and made a large rendition of the East Hall tower at Roosevelt, it was good enough to frame and it hangs in the living room. The colorful fish is likewise framed, and we have that one hanging in the bathroom. I was sad when she quit but her explanation was reasonable. She said that the teacher was too helpful, i.e. she often intervened directly so that the result would be better but not a true effort of the student. Kelsey felt that her product should be from exclusively from her own hand. Her mother and I agreed with her.
It was that same year that Kelsey took a class in Armenian dance with her best friend, Armine. I was proud that she was learning something about her cultural background. I took her to Fowler for a presentation on the night that Greg hit his only over the fence homer in his entire baseball career, but seeing Kelsey in traditional Armenian clothes preserving the culture by learning the dances of our people made it an unmissable occasion.
The swirling, pulsating music came up and they began dancing. The crowd clapped to the beat and nodded their approval. I felt the presence of my dad, gone at that time for nearly two years. Thinking about how proud Mom and Dad would have been brought tears to my eyes.
I was in Food Maxx one day thinking about how to have something special just for Kelsey and I when I saw an Archie and Jughead comic book. I felt as though that comic book world and the world of Kelsey had some kind of common bond. It had something to do with friends and having fun and funny adventures and mishaps within the mainstream, middle class environs. I picked it up, tossed it on the conveyer belt and began the longest standing tradition of all three of my kids. Sometimes I would hand it her; other times I would have her find it by putting the groceries away; most of the time though I would put one on her pillow in her room.
But that wouldn’t suffice as “Kelsey’s thing;” it was our thing, but she would have to have her own. I suggested joining the school choir.
“Dad, no way.”
“But choir is fun. I was in choir in junior high and high school.”
“Dad, no.”
“Well, just give it some thought.”
“Dad.”
“You know, I didn’t eat pizza until the 6th grade because I thought I didn’t like it.”
“Until you went to this guy’s birthday party and his older brother fired a gun to get everyone’s attention and you ate pizza because everyone else was going crazy about it and you didn’t want to look dumb but then you realized that pizza was good.”
“I guess you know that story.”
So choir was out, but not music. She took up violin. It was a thrill to see her participate in the district wide recital at Hoover High when she was in the 5th grade. But she lost interest and quit after one year. Sitting there listening to her play that night though I hatched the next plan.
When I was in junior high school I spent a lot of time in the library reading Mad Magazine. I got kicked out once for laughing too loudly. But there was a particular piece where a guy stands up at a podium and boldly declares he is throwing away his prepared speech and tosses half a dozen papers in the air. Then for the next three panels he tries to speak but he can’t think of anything, and in the last panel he ends up on his hands and knees trying to reassemble the scattered pages of his speech. I thought it would be great to actually run for office and recreate the routine. I chickened out though. I was far from cool enough for that kind of audacity. I pictured Kelsey doing it but it didn’t compute.
Then I recalled how in high school I imagined running on the nothing platform: I would do nothing because high school elections and its participants meant nothing. I was sure I would win. But that was far too cynical. Besides, that was my 16 year old mind; 30 years later I was mature enough to realize that any kind of high school participation was a good thing, well ok, except for cheerleading. Participation in an official capacity creates the sense of belonging somewhere in the world, a kind of validation. It was just what she needed; it is what we all need. One thing I had learned in life was that the only difference between “cool” kids who did stuff and kids who didn’t think they were cool enough was nothing more than the mere willingness to step to the plate and take your swings. The recital had ended and Kelsey was asking me if I had any money for ice cream.
“Kelse, what if you ran for office?”
“What?”
“Like at school next year.”
“No way.”
“Why not? You run for treasurer or secretary; then the next year you run for president.”
“Uh-uh.”
“But…”
“Dad.”
“Ok, ok. But you ought to think about it.” But I was the one who had things to think about. Kids have to walk their own path. They have no obligation to relive their parents’ journey. So I let it go.
Near the end of her 9th grade year I was taking her to a friend’s house on the opposite side of town when she said that she was going to be involved in leadership the next year. It had been a tough year for her because after middle school most of her friends went to Sunnyside High where Kelsey, after much deliberation, decided to go to Edison. She had battled her way through the toughest year in high school, the first, without her support group while simultaneously creating a new one. Quite a feat.
“Leadership? That’s good. How will you be involved?”
“Leadership, Dad.”
“What are you leading though?”
“Augh! Never mind.”
“Oh, you mean, Leadership, like the class?”
“Yeah, but never mind.”
“Ok, I’m sorry. Let’s start over.” She was quiet for a while. “I said I was sorry.”
“You have to run for office to get in leadership.”
“Office? Oh YES!”
“Calm down, Dad. It’s not because you said.”
“Of course not.”
“You have to run to get in the class. It doesn’t matter if you win or not.”
“Ok but, you might win. What are you running for?”
“Class president.”
“Hot doggies!”
“Dad.”
“Ok. Who are you running against?”
“My friend.”
“Your friend?”
“Yeah but we have an agreement. We don’t care who wins. We’ll still be friends. We both just want to be in Leadership. And you can’t get all crazy.”
“Me? No way.”
“Good.”
“Can I get you a gavel with your name on it if you win?”
“No.”
“Ok. Can I come to your first session and take pictures with my disposable camera?”
“No way.”
“Ah. Ok.”
She won. She oversaw the 10th grade Homecoming float and the Winter Formal. Then she ran for 11th grade class president and won again. The junior class that year was in charge of the prom. She wouldn’t let me say she led or she was in charge or even that she called the meetings to order.
“It’s nothing like that, Dad.”
“Oh. What’s it like, then?”
“It’s just one big group working on the same thing.”
“That’s good. Now, how about next year? You running for ASB president?”
“No way. I’m getting out.”
“But…”
“I’m not speaking at the commencement, no way.”
“But that’d be so cool.”
“No.”
“Oh, ok.”
The experience of being in Leadership for two years though was a defining moment for Kelsey. It was like a Polaroid snapshot; at first there was nothing but grey clouds, then an outline, and finally a clear picture. From there she got a job, then traveled to Spain, and called to tell me she was having a glass of sangria. She moved and spoke with greater confidence. Through trial and error she discovered the gifts that God had given her. She is remarkable and her beauty is equally divided between inside and out. It became readily visible after that Polaroid moment though.