Narnia

I took you for a walk and explained to you why attending a $7000/month summer arts camp was not in my vocabulary. We spoke about social class. We spoke about where I came from and where your dad came from and how different those two places were. I told you I was glad your dad had the degrees, the connections, the experiences and the resources to make it possible for you [both] to be at that camp. I told you I did not have those things. I told you that for some people, camps like these were the norm. I told you that for others, a low-cost summer day camp in the park was the best and only option. I asked you if you felt poor and when you said you did not, I felt good. I do not want you to feel ashamed like I did, though I understand my shame was deeper than the mattress on the living room floor or not enough food in the cabinets. I do want you to understand your place in the world. I told you we can talk about these things.

This morning, from my bed, I heard a young couple and their guardian arguing across the street. I do not know if you noticed. A pregnant mama pushed her baby in a stroller up a snow packed hill. I heard, “I love you,” and “I’m sorry,” and, “Bring the baby back to where it’s warm,” and “Ya’ll are crazy,” and “Leave me the fuck alone.”
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From the inside, our home is enchanted like Narnia. It is a good life. But the picture is incomplete if I let you think these things do not happen or, worse, if I let you think I do not see them.

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