In 2002 Zach started a pre school program in our County, that was designed to help specially abled youngsters maximize their development. The student body was diverse and the instructors Divine. It was literally at a Church where I had attended Christmas Eve Mass years before.
There were occasions where parents joined. Some days it was one parent, and for special events like “Holiday” or “End of Year” promotions entire families could join. Since Zach’s Dad and I had no other living children, our “entire” family consisted of the three of us.
By contrast, there was another family who was anything but small. The Mom was beautiful and reminded me of Sandra Dee (played by Olivia Newton John) from the movie Grease. She was strong, vibrant and seemed to have at least three other children in addition to Jack, who attended the pre school program with Zach.
They would arrive in a minivan, all six of them when Dad would join. I admired the love I could feel within their family despite the chaos that was necessarily part of trying to accomplish anything formal with that many people. I longed for my daughter who’d died a few years before and ached for a large family like Jack’s.
Jack’s Mom and I were cordial. Mostly I was envious that she had so many beautiful, healthy children, and seemingly had it “all together.” Mom was ALWAYS smiling, always kind and generous, the kind of person you want to not like, but have to like because she is so warm. She was strong (in later years I would remark on her “Michelle O’Bama” biceps) and confident.
I admired Jack’s Mom when I was able to (momentarily) relinquish the “threat” my ego naturally felt at facing the feelings of insecurity that arose by being around such a beautiful, capable, friendly woman who was so gracefully meeting the challenges of raising a special needs son.
In my mind I named her Sandra Dee, again referring back to that movie character. She had qualities I aspired to build in myself and from a distance she had it all. We became friends. The closest of friends. I will likely refer to her again and again in posts because our friendship has grown over the last two decades. When I blog about Sandra Dee, you will know to whom I am referring.
For purposes of of this post, I will share while simultaneously laughing out loud that when the barriers between us broke down over time, and we began talking openly, as growing friends do, I was shocked to hear her impression of me.
“You were a working woman and always had your neat, compact well-put together family, just the three of you, arriving together, leaving together, no muss no fuss, just perfect.” She was noticing me too, with the same pre-judgment I’d un-warrantedly assigned to her. “I didn’t want to be friends with someone so organized and clearly on top of things,” She would say.
Over two decades we have had more in common than we actually wanted to experiencing similar tragedies and profound loss. But my lesson here is that we constantly make assumptions about people, places and things around us that could keep us from connecting.
If my assumptions about Sandra Dee had prevented me from being open to her, I would have missed the gifts her friendship has brought to me again and again. And likewise, if she allowed her feelings of “She’s got it so together I can’t stand women like that” to be a barrier to our connection, she too would have missed out on the friendship.
Our diverse families, appearances, strengths and flaws are all part of being human. Different isn’t better or worse. In this case it was the joke that keeps us laughing even now. Don’t miss the diamonds in the rough when you are busy making assumptions about others to soothe your ego. Try to keep an open heart and mind, and receive the gems that surround us, disguised as perfect people we want nothing to do with.