E4: Harry Potter Camp and the Seven-Year-Old with Secrets

Recorded June 9, 2024: After a week of COVID and a second week of exhaustion, I'm ready to record again. Join me as I walk down memory lane to relive a few of my many parenting failures. 

Or were they? 

It depends on who's telling the tale. 

Connect with me at: LindaBP.com or on IG @LindaBP68

Transcript

0:00

Welcome to the LindaBP podcast. I'm Linda, a chick with MS who's getting nervous about the upcoming U. S. election. Since dictators don't like disabled people, I'm recording now while free speech and women with opinions still exist. I missed posting for a couple of weeks due to finally coming down with COVID. My four year streak ended, but I survived to tell the tale without any MS flares. So I consider this to be a win that I will happily talk about in the future. But today I want to talk about Harry Potter. I loved all the Harry Potter hype that occurred when my kids were young. I enjoyed the books and the movies. I appreciated that it became their foray into series book reading. I loved going to Borders at midnight to buy the book. I also enjoyed J. K. Rowling's inspirational story. She was a down and out single mom on the dole. She typed the manuscript out at night after writing it out longhand during the day. I mean, seriously, what a great story. I do find her current trans stance really odd. Here's the thing. I have no idea what it feels like to not want to be a female, but I can absolutely identify with not aligning up with norms when it comes to my body. I've been through puberty, I've been pregnant twice, breastfed two children, I've lost mobility, and now live in a post menopausal disabled body. I absolutely know what it feels like to not look or move as well as other people. So if I take all of my own experiences and add them to my imagination, hmm, give me a moment. There! I've done it. I can imagine what it's like to not want to be female. What do you know? And I'm a nobody from nowhere. A woman whose only writing skills are of the nonfiction variety. Unlike Rowling, who imagined an entire magical world of moving photographs, an aviary postal delivery system, and a sport that didn't exist. She created 772 characters that she sprinkled throughout a highly complex seven book series. Yet, she can't imagine someone wanting to change genders. She can't even consider that gender might be like everything else in life, on a spectrum. Anyway, bummed about that, yet grateful for the millions. Actually, tens of millions of dollars she's donated to MS in honor of her mom who had it and I can only imagine died from it. So it's complicated, but I digress. So getting back to Harry Potter, I love sitting in a pack theater to watch the films as they came out. Loved that no matter how hard they tried, hyper religious folks worried about the dangerous conjurings of a fictional boy wizard didn't stop him from. flying his magical freak flag into our hearts. I loved all the Harry Potter themed birthday parties and movie release nights my kids hosted or attended. As the British would say, I thought it was brilliant, absolutely brilliant. So go back in time with me to the mid aughts. You can only imagine how excited my kids were when at Harry Potter's all time high, our local community college offered a summer camp called A Week at Hogwarts. My daughter, Paige, attended the first year it was offered. She took classes. called Potions, Defense of the Dark Arts, and Herbology. She made crafts, discussed the book, and hung out with a couple close friends. So the following summer, my younger daughter, Jarin, celebrated her seventh birthday and was finally old enough to sign up for the course as well. I was thrilled that she was getting into Harry Potter. All the movies were inspiring her to read the books. And more importantly, very thrilled that Jarin's Hogwarts camp coincided perfectly with the days and times of Paige's yoga camp, which allowed me five free mornings to attend coffee and cigarettes with friends camp at different locations around town. I was so thrilled to be free at last, free at last, that I didn't pay close attention when I dropped Jarin off each day. I ran in, signed the sheet, pushed her into the class, and ran to my car. Sure, some of the kids towered over her, But who am I to point fingers and gawk at the freakishly tall? Besides, there was no time to contemplate my child's placement on the growth chart. I had friends and a grande no-whip mocha waiting for me. Everything was going fine, and then Wednesday of that week, I got a call from the head of the Kids on Campus summer program. Not her teacher, mind you. The head of the entire summer program. Apparently a group of exchange students from Taiwan were in town and would be spending an afternoon hanging out with the Hogwarts kids. Camp participants were given the option to stay after class for lunch and meet the kids that were touring our town. Since everyone around the world at that time was fluent and all things Harry Potter, they figured it was a good way to bridge the language gap. But sadly, they did not feel that Jarin would fit in with this group, her being so, and I quote, young and all. Excuse me, I interrupted. What do you mean by young and all? Well, Mrs. BP, all the kids in the Harry Potter class are in middle school. Since Jarin is in grade school, we don't feel that she should hang out unattended with foreign exchange students so much older than her. Chaperones will be there, obviously, but keeping an eye on 10 kids in a classroom is much different than a large group of international teens at a park. I'm sorry, what? All of the camp classmates are teenagers? Jarin's the only student that's in grade school? Uh, why yes, Mrs. BP. You have to be 12 to take the Harry Potter class. What do you mean you have to be 12? I thought I signed her up for the 12 and under class. Oh, that was last week. This is the 12 and over group. What are you talking about? She's seven. I'm so confused. Why didn't anybody say anything to me? Well, we thought it was odd at first, but honestly, she fit in fine. She's talkative and enthusiastic. She has no problem participating. And the teacher remembered meeting Jarin last year when your other daughter took the class. She wasn't too childish. She wasn't causing a problem that first day. So the teacher figured, eh, it would be fine. I am so sorry, I said. I didn't make the connection. I just signed her up and left each day. Do you want her to stop coming? Nah. She can finish the week. Just pick her up tomorrow before we leave for the exchange student picnic. Well, I was dumbfounded. Clearly my subconscious need for a parental break had guided my hand on the form. the month before. I apologized profusely to the director who assured me that Jarin was having fun only discussing Harry Potter and not scoring drugs or learning how to sniff glue. We hung up and I immediately ran up to Jarin's room to check on her and to find out what the hell was going on. Jarin, you're Harry Potter class. Are you getting along with the kids okay? Yep, she said. Are they treating you nice? Uh huh. Obviously she was not going to give me any extra information. So finally I just snapped. Do you realize that you're the youngest person in the class? Shh, she replied. Don't tell anyone. Mom, they think I'm a teenager. I fooled them. I fooled them all, she said proudly. I was dumbfounded. She really thought that she was a teenager? Are you kidding me? Jarin, you recently lost your two front teeth. You can't pronounce your R's. Give it up. Nobody thinks you're a teenager. And then she just looked at me like I was an idiot. Harry Potter apparently had nothing on my kid's magical ability to transform herself into a teeny bopper. The next day, as I walked her onto campus and actually stopped and paid attention, you know, like a good mother would. I was shocked at what I had missed. Kids with boobs, a peach fuzz upper lip trying desperately to turn into a mustache, acne, the gothic eyeliner gone terribly wrong look that only a 7th grader could tackle, along with a few really nice whiffs of BO associated with early adolescence. Oh, and hardly any other parents because, you know, they were middle schoolers. Who could walk across the parking lot and into a building on their own? How did I not notice this? One girl was so tall my kid came up to her waist. Her waist. The only thing that saved me from a visit from Children and Youth Services was the fact that I was dropping my nerd off daily to hang out with a bunch of older nerds. I often wonder how I was characterized when that teacher or other parents tell this tale. What mom version am I in their stories? Am I the clueless mom? The flighty mom? I'd like to think I was the poor, overwhelmed mom that needed a break. Maybe I was the honest mistake mom whose one wrong assumption affected all other assumptions that week. But my guess is, most probably thought I was just a shitty mom who didn't care, especially if they saw me at Starbucks. Who knows? I will say it all worked out, but it all worked out because my kid was lucky. All it would have taken was one overly hormonal, abused, and confused kid to cross paths with my, I think I'm a teenager, so I'll do whatever is asked of me to fit in, kid, and this story could have a completely different tone and ending. Instead, it's a funny family story about a time when my daughter had more confidence in her pinky than the rest of us had in our entire bodies. If you go to@LindaBP68 on Instagram, or my website, LindaBP.com you can see pictures of my kid blending in seamlessly with all the other students. Her confidence, honestly, it was extraordinary. And parenting, Jesus, what a shit show. It's a constant cross between being pretty sure you're doing everything right, only to be surrounded by others who are pretty sure you're doing everything wrong. It takes me back. to this time when my oldest Paige was about five months old. I was watching Oprah. She had a safety expert on who was talking about carjackings. Apparently, I was doing everything wrong, especially when I was going to the grocery store. Mistake number one was that most parents park close to the front door of a store. Then when they're done shopping and head outside, Their second mistake is putting their child in the car first and the groceries in the car last. The problem with this approach is, if you get carjacked, the criminal takes off with your car and your kid, leaving you alone, safe with your groceries. Definitely not what you want. The smarter choice involves parking close to the cart return area. When you're done shopping, put your groceries in your trunk first, then take the cart back, then grab your kid, carry your kid back to your vehicle, paying attention to your surroundings while you strap them in, then voila, jump in the driver's seat, take off. It made perfect sense. So then next time I went shopping, even though it was frigid. Even though it was a February day, I was determined to keep my child safe from carjackers. So there I was on a windy 20 degree day, putting my produce in a warm trunk to fend for itself, while keeping my infant out in the elements, safely with me. Like a good mom. No carjackers approached me, and I'm not gonna lie, feeling pretty awesome about my parenting skills. When suddenly, an old timer, who was walking by, decided to tell me how much I sucked as a parent. That baby's gonna get pneumonia! He yelled while wagging his finger at me. Put your kid in the damn car! Did I pull him aside and explain my anti carjacking point of view. Nah. I could give two shits that some old guy thought I was a bad mom. But, I can't help but notice that in that moment, I went from being the hero in my story to being an idiot in his story. Because yet again, it depends on who's telling the tale. We were both doing the best we could with the information we had. He was right to be concerned about the elements. I was right to be concerned about carjackers. Honestly, only a statistical analysis of crime rates versus infant mortality rates might have proven which one of us was the most accurate. But in a court of law, I think both of our arguments would have stood up. If he lost a grandkid from a carjacker due to his fear of pneumonia, And if I had lost a child to pneumonia due to my fear of carjackers, I think neither of us does any hard time. Honestly, it was a great life lesson to learn in my 20s. Everyone has different concerns. Perceptions don't necessarily equal reality. Poor choices often come from really honest intentions. People do the best they can with the information they have. And honestly, I've believed that for most of my adult life, until recently. You know, 30 years ago, media outlets and public figures didn't get away with lying like they do today. This has resulted in people doing the best they can with lots of false information and outright fabrications. Now it feels like everyone is my seven year old daughter fooling us all into believing that they're something they're not. I think it's up to each of us to figure out whether we want to be the truth teller that looks someone we love in the face and says,"Nobody's falling for this. Give it up"!. Or, do we keep walking when the old timer insults us because, What does it matter? I think the answer to that determines what happens this November. Arguing with strangers won't do much, but lovingly pushing back with the people you actually have a relationship with can change everything. So when it comes to people I know personally, I'm going to keep speaking up. I'm going to tell them the truth. The question is, will you? Thanks so much for listening. Please like and subscribe wherever you get your podcasts. Links to any resources mentioned can be found on my website LindaBP.Com or you can follow me on Instagram@Lindabp68. Difficult conversations are always welcome. Manufactured outrage is not. Please comment accordingly.