Slow death; no dignity

"Do you have any fun trips planned this summer?"

Photo by Aldo Vukaj on Unsplash

Our school year ended a week early this year because of a budget shortfall. Teachers were furloughed! Apparently that is a thing that can happen. Oregon already has one of the shortest school years in the country, but who’s counting? Me, always me, doing math when friends’ kids get out later for summer. But we don’t go back until — Sssh. I looked up your school calendar. I counted the weeks and your break is shorter. This is how normal I am. This is the kind of equanimity I’m working with here.

That said, if your school district’s summer is longer than ours, at 11.5 weeks, I really do want to hear about it. And it will make me feel good.

On my children’s last day of my kids’ school — June 5th, let the record show — I took my 8yo to an end-of-year block party. Think slip-and-slide and squirt guns and everyone bring your own camping chairs except it was a June day in Portland so it was 60 degrees and the kids were visibly shivering. I’d spent the hours since pickup hoping my child would change his mind and not want to go, and also considering “losing track of time,” but we do that enough in a genuine way I didn’t want to add another occasion. Also, I knew that my own feelings of inadequacy and aversion to fielding the, “Got any fun plans this summer?” question was not a good enough reason to socially deprive my son.

Got any good trips planned? I’ve considered lying, tried saying, “We actually can’t afford to go anywhere this year,” with no further disclaimers but it feels wildly aggressive depending who you’re talking to. Better to hit them with, “Nope! How bout you?” and wait for them to say Hawaii.

Because I am a good mother I bravely approached the scene with my better-adjusted son, who immediately set off to spend 90 minutes in a water fight, riding an inflatable Orca. While he frolicked I cased the perimeter filled with unease, defensively gripping my New Yorker tote. Sitting on the curb alone and performatively not-looking at my phone would give off a nice mysterious vibe, right?

Thankfully I found a dad I knew, sitting with another dad who had a new puppy. And Dad A, bless him, looked at me gamely and said, what else, “Excited for summer?”

“No!” I deadpanned, and everyone laughed. This bit kills every time.

At this, Dad B, tattooed aging skater type, hurried his kid off to play and turned to us. “Jesus Christ,” he said. “I hate summer now. Remember when summer was a cause for celebration? And now having kids has completely ruined it. I never would have thought the first day of school would be my favorite day of the year. But it is! It totally is.”

You might be horrified by this comment, probably because he’s a dad, but I cannot begin to tell you the joy and relief I felt in this moment. To be known! To be seen! Obviously in my non-school social life I surround myself with constitutional haters, but to have the truth spoken in this pickleball-adjacent milieu, with parents ranking campsites to the right and left of me? To hear this man — who is the primary caregiver, btw, so call off the hounds — say summer is the worst time of year now? It was an oasis in the desert of my heart.

In what I imagine was the spirit of solidarity, Dad A went to get a drink and came back with pink wine in Solo cups for all of us. He didn’t ask, just handed them over like little gifts. A risk but a beautiful one. I have approximately three drinks a year these days. This, my friends, would be one of them.

After getting slightly buzzed I told them the latest school district gossip, that my older kid’s middle school held an AI pep rally during the public school day, where (yes) Colin Kaepernick threw free backpacks to the kids and ran through a pitch deck about how AI can help them express themselves. There was a DJ. A kid got punched in the face, fighting for merch. “We have to like them mom, they gave us free stuff.” I’d say more but I have already raged about it on the record and will continue to do so when asked.

Dad B said something about how using AI is fucking inhuman and destroying our souls. Dad A said, “Yeah sometimes after I put my work emails through Claude I think, “Why did I even do that?””

To each his own, lol.

To be honest, I still haven’t been able to let go of the idea of “enjoying summer.” I have a summer birthday. I love to garden, which peaks in summer. I love summer produce! I love the water and the sun. The parts are all there! Unfortunately to “enjoy life” I need 4-6 hours of solitude a day.

There was something about the way this dad had accepted it. It seemed so liberating. I laughed with glee. This motherfucker was not feeling emotionally cornered by Reels insisting we only having 18 summers with our children so it’s actually best not to work outside the home.

What a relief. Maybe one day I’ll get there.

Speaking of things being emotionally cornered: I had an essay on Cup of Jo last month called “Adventures in Wigland.” It is about taking my mom wig shopping when she was on chemo, but really about [concept about help/grace/denial that if I could summarize in a sentence I wouldn’t have written the essay].

Like any red-blooded elder millennial, I’ve long-dreamed of being nestled in the bosom of the COJ commenting community. Ladies, it did not disappoint. Unfortunately my favorite part might have been when a few commenters missed my brief mention that my mom died a few months after the events of the essay, and assured me she would pull through. Zoe, thank you:

lollllll

I truly wish I could see my mom’s reaction to that. She would do something funny like huff or scoff and I would fall over laughing. In reality, she’d be furious she was dead. FURIOUS.

Speaking of death, I have been reading book after book about MAiD, medical aid in dying, for reasons that are unclear, other than the fact that: it is endlessly fascinating on about six different levels, maybe I’ll put it in a novel, and okay fine, I helped my mom enroll in it as my last filial act but she died before she was approved. I’m sure there is nothing more to this. But it is funny to look at my nightstand and see When My Time Comes, Dying With Dignity, This is Assisted Dying, and hmmm, now that I type this out I do wonder what my kids think about this.

The best book about death I’ve read recently was actually a novel, called NIGHT, NIGHT FAWN and I want everyone to read it. You know when you read a contemporary novel that is what other cowards wish they could do, and you’re preemptively mad about it not winning enough awards? It is a very funny, structurally daring, and about a bigoted Boomer mom on her deathbed, being cared for by her estranged trans son, who’s requiring her to make “a Marxist apology” for her life. Need I go on? IMO, it would be a perfect book club book, especially if it’s your turn to pick and the boring people are starting to piss you off.

😁 One week down 😁

😁 I only have ten more summers 😁

Bye <3