It is a question that I both love and dread: “Where did you grow up?” My standard reply is, “I was born in southern California- Fountain Valley- then moved to Phoenix, Arizona, then Scottsdale, Arizona, then Houston, Texas, then Beaumont, Texas, then back to southern California- Mission Viejo- then to Las Vegas. But I have been in the Bay Area for 15 years now.” I love that question because it seems to be a bigger conversation starter than most of the things I say. I dread it because it seems to be a bigger conversation starter than most of the things I say.
“Put it down, mom. Put the marker down. Stop, mom. Walk away from the table, mom.”
I am not the kind of woman who enjoys reprimanding her own mother in a room full of 3rd graders, but I will when it’s necessary. And this was necessary. My mother had started to tidy up a dirty table while the teacher was explaining to the students what her expectations were for cleaning up at the end of class. On our walk home, I decided to talk to my mom about why I scolded her. “You were trying to clean up as the teacher was telling the kids that that was their job.”