Wear That Crown

I was walking my daughter into preschool last week, when a poignant moment happened. The kind where you think you possibly, without malice, somewhat break your child’s little heart. Not a big break, but a small crack. The cracks of real life. Have you ever had that moment? As you relay some small piece of grown-up-world truth to your child, one that is usually “right” and “necessary”, “true” and even “kind”, you despise that part of the job, and the words that you utter. Even though you understand that it does fall in our zone of important parental tasks, you know, the important ones that help prepare our children for the classroom, for whatever the situation at hand, and ultimately, for life. Sometimes when you utter the necessary words, even gently, you feel like you may be crushing their tiny little hopeful spirits, and it’s a little awful. That’s where I found myself one recent afternoon.

It was a day full of sunshine. My daughter was on my hip as we walked toward school (which, by the way, was something I said I wouldn’t do- carry my four or five year old. Whatever, Courtney-ten- years-ago). She had a birthday crown on her head and a big, bright, happy smile on her face. What could be wrong about this picture? Nothing, truly.

Except one small thing. It’s just that she got the snazzy little hat with her name on it just the day before, when they celebrated her birthday at preschool. She got to wear it the whole day. Yesterday. And I was pretttty sure she couldn’t wear the crown to school again today.

Last year’s version was worn at home on and off for months, until it was greatly bent and eventually set aside. This year’s brand new crown was obviously quickly adopted into the rotation (I mean, why not?!) and, somehow, made its way to school with us. When we went to get out of the car, my precious daughter had picked up that crown, put it on her head, adjusted it with little effort and large confidence, and stepped towards preschool. Such joy. Such confidence. No doubt. Just radiance.

But like I said, it was the day after her birthday party, and even though she was ready to wear it again (to school!), I was pretty sure she wasn’t going to be able to do so. I mean, can you imagine all of the kids wearing those crowns on any day that they wanted? It would get pretty confusing and kind of negate the whole point.  The reality is that you can’t have a classroom full of children wearing birthday crowns, Willy nilly.

  She was sooooo genuinely confident and joyful at that moment, I couldn’t say anything just yet. It was so precious and sincere, I had to let her enjoy that a few moments more while I considered my approach.

As we walked, I realized that had two choices on how she’d find out. Either I would tell her now, giving her time to adjust before she had to walk through the door, or I could wait until she was at the threshold and have one of her teachers be the one to break the news. There wasn’t really a wrong answer here, as I saw it was just about timing and knowing your own kid. My daughter is super reasonable and logical, as well as a deep feeler of healthy emotions. I knew that she needed needed to know that she probably wasn’t going to be able to wear her crown in school and that the most kind thing would be to give her time to wrap her mind around it. I thought I’d tell her now, as we still walked towards the four walls of school and help give her a few moments for her emotions to fall into a settled, and hopefully, happy place, even if it wasn’t her first choice. (Or mine, now that you mention it!).

Have you ever had to tell the truth to your kid and it hurt a little? That’s the funny thing about truth. Sometimes you need a moment, or a year before you can handle it, or handle dishing it out. But there are times in life when you can’t wait, and you can’t avoid the truth. As a parent, you may even need to be the one to say it, and you can only hope your love will soften the blow, even a little.

So on that bright September school morning, I took a deep breath, and it was with a little sadness that I very gently told my daughter “the truth”. (Telling the “truth” to youth-filled hopefulness. File that under “less desirable Mom jobs.”) This time the truth was small maybe by comparison, but not small by comparison to the size of her tiny heart.  I told her that it probably wasn’t “appropriate” to wear it in school on the day that it actually wasn’t her birthday. I felt sad at having to relay the news.  About as sad as she felt hearing it.  

Her expression, moments before, was so pure and so uninhibited.  So young and free. I saw the change, a new look come into her eyes and I saw a bit of sadness all her own.  My emotionally intelligent daughter was learning that expressions of joy has parameters in life.  That not everything is “appropriate” for school.  That her beauty and her crown might have to be tucked away sometimes.  For clarity, for the crowd, for decorum.

She wasn’t upset or crushed, but she seemed maybe a little disappointed about this new information, about the paradigm shift of how the world works. I may have taken just as hard, or even harder, knowing the depths to which this may be true sometimes. She got it, though, and I made sure to say that she could wear it later, of course. She seemed to understand when told her why. I understood too.

But by golly, I’ll tell you what.

I thought to myself, May I never say that about her real crown. May I never ever tell her to take that one off. Because, my dears, we all have one. May I never ever tell her to hide her beauty, her genuine heart, or those expressions that make her truly special.    

But that crown of love, of joy, of celebration, of who you are and your unique specialness.  NEVER take off that one, sweetheart.  Never never stuff it into your backpack as you walk through the classroom door.  Or the boardroom door.  Or crossing the finish line or entering the exercise class or the learning workshop.

While it is a somewhat sad truth, not everything expression or accessory is appropriate for the venue or the occasion. You might have to take off your birthday crown or your baseball cap sometimes.  But never hide YOU. Don’t hide your true self, your beauty, your enthusiasm or the essence of who you are. Your quirky laugh or off beat humor. The songs you can’t help but sing, the way you love to take things apart and see how they work. What makes you uniquely you. Keep right on shining that crown, love.  

It’s what you’re made to do.   

It not only IS always appropriate, it is so needed in this world, inside whatever door that you will ever walk through. It’s why you’re here.

Children have so much joy and excitement and hopefulness, such belief in possibility. They don’t fear rejection because they don’t know what it is yet. They don’t force themselves to fit into society yet. They wear the boots and the crown on a Tuesday, just because. They can step outside in their underwear without any worry (not the least of these, the worry about being a weirdo.)

Sometimes I think that we really don’t help our kids as much as we mess them up. The rules, the niceties, the appropriates and the perimeters. They’re all well and good. Heck, I’m a bit of a manners nut myself. We’re not perfect, or southern, but we do alright around here. We puffed up a little today when we were at a restaurant with our kids. They both had excellent manners and were so well behaved that two sets of strangers commented. (It was a good day, and just writing this makes me be aware that an opposite story may soon be told!) Manners matter and keep life running smoothly. But it’s also a little sad when you think about it.
With each responsibility and cause-and-effect we teach them, it can sometimes feels like we are slowing shaving off their best and brightest parts. Their unabashedness, and their unfettered excitement. Their complete self confidence.

I mean, we want them to be amazing and different and themselves. But we also want the, to fit in and not stand out too much. It’s basic survival instincts I guess. Don’t stand out or be noticed too much, or you risk being in a place of possible danger.

We still whisper for them to be quiet, tell them to follow the rules, ask them to take off their crown. Rules and manners in general are not bad things. They are good, and okay, and necessary. But my point is, sometimes by focusing on the “shoulds” are we sometimes missing the point? Are we missing the moments to point them towards the “coulds”? I was wrestling with these conflicting ideas, ever since the crown incident. Teaching them well, helping them do the right thing, but also not changing or quieting who they are; not being afraid to let them shine.

Then the most amazing thing happened, a few days later. We went for a fall family hike in the woods. Not a walk on a wide path with cute outfits and a latte in your hand. This was the kind with high socks, mud, bug spray to keep away ticks, and real trails covered with leaves and maybe snakes.

Well guess what our daughter stepped out of the car wearing? Yes indeed. THAT crown. I was confused, again, for a moment. And then my momma heart swelled with pride. Even though she couldn’t wear it in school, she didn’t stop trying. Even if today she was going to end up wearing her share of mud and sweat, she was still going to wear that crown. She wore it because she wanted to. Because it had her name on it. Because she believed she deserved that kind of special.

So we hiked. And she wore her crown. Long hair, rolled up jeans, muddy sneakers and a crown of calm confidence. She was radiantly herself. Hiking stick in hand, she was leading the way.

Maybe they’re the ones leading the way here, after all. Maybe while I’m teaching her how to fit in, she’s teaching me how to stand out. While I’m teaching her appropriate, she’s teaching me magnificence. While I tell her it’s okay to get muddy and it’s a normal part of hikes, and life, she’s telling me that it’s also okay to wear a celebratory crown. Don’t be afraid to shine, too, mom. It’s who we are BOTH meant to be.

Later on, we were back at home, she was wearing her crown and wrestling and playing with her dad. She turned to me and said, “Here, hold my crown. You can give it back to me when I’m done.”
You better believe I will, darling. I’ll hold on to it sometimes if you need me too. And I’ll pass it back when you’re ready again. I’ll remind you to wear that crown anytime you get a chance, Dear Daughter.
And I’ll do my best to find reasons to wear mine too. Reasons like you.