There's always another chance to ace parenting

From today's Briefing:

There are no scheduled report cards for parents. But if I were being graded for my work over a 24-hour period last week, I’m certain I would have failed.

Last Friday was our school’s nine-week celebration, at which the kids sing songs and receive recognition for their work.

I had no plans to go. I try to attend at least two a year and definitely go when I know that one of my children will be called to the stage. This time, there was no compelling reason.

I planned to spend that time — my only unscheduled time of the day — at the gym, as part of training for an upcoming triathlon.

So, Thursday afternoon I asked Katie which song she and fellow kindergarteners would be singing. This is the moment my grade started to plummet.

“I’m keeping it a secret so that when you’re there you’ll be surprised!”

“Oh, well, I wasn’t planning to go. I’m going to bike and run.”

“What?! That will be the second time in my life that you weren’t there to hear me sing!” (She is very exclamation pointy.)

I made a mental note — yet again — that Katie is a different child than Cooper, who is happy to see me in the crowd of parents but isn’t troubled if I’m not there. And I noted that she’s keeping score.

Then I told her that I would cancel my training plans and be there to listen to her sing.

That promise and a hug may have lifted my grade a smidge.

I reversed my progress the next morning. My parenting grade dropped big time.

Katie came out of her room dressed for the assembly’s Western theme wearing boots, denim skirt and a tie-dye T-shirt.

“Katie, that’s not the Western shirt I put out for you. Tie-dye isn’t Westerny. You should change.”

Her shoulders slumped. Her smile faded.

Are you kidding me? I asked myself. How could you crush your daughter’s creative spirit? Why are you making a big deal about the shirt she wears to an assembly? (An assembly, by the way, that she had to beg you to attend.)

Before she could turn back to her room, I reversed my needlessly harsh words.

“Katie, I’m sorry. I was wrong. You can wear whichever shirt you want. Would you like to wear a denim vest over the T-shirt?”

Her smile returned, we found the vest, and my groovy cowgirl sat down for breakfast.

Still, my average was low. I’d corrected my mistakes, but some damage is irreversible.

I cheerfully sat through two hours of celebrations, said the Pledge of Allegiance twice, pledged to the Texas flag twice, listened to every grade level sing a song, including kindergarten’s “B-I-N-G-O.” I had two moments of silence — during which I prayed for more parental patience and wisdom.

The highlights were the hugs from my two children, stolen as each left the cafeteria for class.

My grade was on the rise again. I was feeling more confident. Until that night.

I was hosting bunco at the house. I let Cooper and Katie sprawl out in my room to watch television while my friends and I rolled dice and visited.

Cooper asked if they could watch The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. My first reaction was no. I hadn’t seen the film. I didn’t know if there was anything objectionable. (Though you’d think memories of the novel would suffice.)

But he pleaded, and I thought, “It’s a classic. It’ll be OK.”

Fast-forward 90 minutes. Anguished sobs are coming from my room.

Cooper couldn’t pause the film fast enough. Katie was shaking and crying at the image of Jim about to be hanged.

Automatic failure for me. I allowed my tender-hearted 5-year-old, the one who sobbed during Gnomeo and Juliet because a pair of flamingos were separated, to watch an unknown PG-rated movie without me.

I apologized. Gave lots of hugs and kisses. Switched the channel to Bubble Guppies. Said a prayer of thanks for second chances and of hope for a better tomorrow — and the opportunity to pull up my grade.

Tyra Damm is a Briefing columnist. Email her at tyradamm@gmail.com.