Category: Shorter Works

We planted this peony in front of the house a few years back. No one knew for certain what color it would be or its future size, so we stuck it in the ground and watched it grow. And grow. And it’s never blossomed. For the past couple years, we’ve talked about pulling it out of the ground since it mostly resembles a glorious weed.

What is it about mirrors? You put one in front of an animal and it reacts — even an animal that ought to know better. Dogs and cats generally become aggressive toward the unknown encroacher. Great apes become curious and experimental — much like children.

That’s what happened when my son’s Tae Kwon Do school moved into a new space. Along with new mats and other gear, the new space has floor-to-ceiling mirrors along one wall. Before and after each class, the students have a short bit of free time during which they greet each other with the traditional nod or screech, run about happily, and interact with their reflections. If only my grandmother were here to say, “You know, if you keep doing that, your face will freeze that way.”

And then class begins. A small group of these children will test for their black belts soon — my son included. They have been studying for five or more years, practicing every day. These young men and women face the mirror with a commitment beyond expectation. Like so many others who have struggled toward a goal, their reflections echo those years of effort.

That peony in front of our house surprised us this year with beautiful tiny white blossoms.

June, 2006

One day when I was a pre-adolescent, a young mother and child paraded through our school escorted by the principal. The child was pre-school age, yet dressed better than the rest of us. He was also better behaved.

So, the principal sits this boy down in front of our high-performance class and begins to read off his accomplishments: something like he spoke five languages, had mastered Newtonian physics, and read James Joyce for fun. The whole room sat in silent awe. We were clearly not worthy. He mostly stared at his mother and paid little attention to anything around him. In retrospect, he probably wanted to have a snack and to go home. In conclusion, the principal led her two companions to the front door of the school and bid them farewell. Neither had articulated a single word, neither was seen again, and the incident was not spoken of again.

I cannot imagine what the principal hoped to accomplish by this dog-and-pony show, probably a misguided effort to lure the child into attending the school.

While I help my son with his homework, occasionally I remember that child in front of my middle-school class. I have to overcome the knee-jerk reaction which says similar phantoms are my boy’s competition for a quality future (you know: the good school, the good job, the good life). The daily repetition of parenting does not lend itself to maintaining a reasonable perspective. The pull of the elite education leading to entry into the imagined stratosphere leads to odd choices — even the little decisions that don’t seem like decisions and suddenly make this math problem in front of us more important than food or happiness or a life well-lived.

January, 2006