He was a legend in the art department of the university where I went to school. He was loud, rude, and obnoxious. Yet, all of that was overlooked for three reasons: he was brilliant, he was dedicated, and he was born and raised in New York City. Being as that last one wasn't anything he worked for it shouldn't have counted... but it might have been what allowed the other two to be counted at all. There's something about being from NYC that makes some people feel inclined to hand you a stack of "free pass" tokens. Perhaps that's one reason why locals get so pissy when the pedicab drivers address them as tourists -- they feel stripped of their street cred.
I've tried to take it with good humor this year every time we get accosted: "Hey, I'll take you around the park for half-price." After all, I understand why we look like tourists: 1) the kids aren't in school during school hours 2) The Girl has a pair of running shoes that she likes to wear regardless of the outfit 3) the very not-cool, not-urban matching red coats.
The red coats. I bought them because they were on sale at a good company. I appreciated them because they have an insert that can be zipped out, so it's a fleece and winter coat in one. I considered them because of a story that that very NYC art professor told us in class once:
He started his teaching career as a young elementary school teacher in Brooklyn. One day he decided to take his class into sketchy midtown Manhattan to explore art at the MOMA. This wasn't the stroller-packed-cupcake-shop city that we live in now -- this was NYC in the 70's. And it wasn't just about wandering Manhattan... it was two transfers on a subway system that -- at this time -- conjured up images akin to somebody shooting up on a stained box-spring. He didn't take any parent chaperones along -- it was just him and the kids and he made something very clear to them: "I will not be watching you. I wore my red coat today. It is your job to make sure that you can always see my red coat." I think he got the reaction he was expecting: we were all somewhere on the incredulous/shocked/horrified-spectrum as he concluded his story: "I took 25 third-graders into the city, and I returned home that night with 25 third-graders who had seen Starry Night and Monet's lilies."
Often when I see red coats in the city the flash of a young, brash elementary school teacher comes to mind -- saying: my job is to lead you to the art; it's your job to take care of yourself.
I'm not fabulous about that. I like my kids close, not just so I can hear them and talk to them, but also so that I can snatch them out of harm's way. But I knew that a goal of the scheme was to let out some yardage on the tether. To let them know that I know that they are capable, and they have responsibilities. I have a role, but it's not an omnipotent one.
This year the red coats made it very easy for me to spot them during all of our excursions -- as their area of exploration broadened and deepened.
Today, during a walk through the park I realized: we might not be bringing the coats out again this year.
Fall came and went, as did Winter. We have Spring now. Within the week I will submit the third quarterly report to the Office of Home Schooling. I'm happy that the kids got to spend a couple of hours at the park instead of inside a building that smells of musty lunch boxes and feet.
