If you went away to college, you remember the "walk of shame". The walk of shame is when a girl sleeps over at her boyfriend's room and then has to walk back to her own room in the morning before class to get new clothes. (I can only admit to the walk of shame because I have been married to the man for 20 years. And... because my parents are dead. Otherwise I'd still be pretending it never happened!) Usually, the walk happens early. When the custodial staff are working like the shoemakers elves to clean up the craziness from the night before.
Sidetrack:
Most students will work their entire schedule to avoid waking up early so most of us rarely ever saw the custodial staff. (Or was it just me? I probably chose my major based on class time...) They were the mysterious clinks and clunks in the hall that made you groan and roll over. Recognizing that another day has started but not needing to participate in it yet. They were the soundtrack to my early morning dreams...
Looking back as a grownup, I think that, if I were them, I would have been violently noisy with my bucket and pail. Slamming my broom against every door and dropping something metal every few minutes. (Passive-aggressive much?) I think I would resent the idiot students who create such barbaric messes, break things and spill everywhere. Sleeping all day and partying all night. (Mostly, I'm talking about the boys. That's a whole other story for another time.)
Veer back on topic:
I remember walking past those ladies and feeling like their eyes were searing into my back. I kept my head down and walked fast while feeling judged. More likely, they hardly noticed. What's one more besmirched girl in the parade? (As long as they didn't know my mother to tell her!)
This school year I had to do the walk of shame all over again. No, I don't have a boyfriend. (Not a real one, anyway.) But I had all the same feelings to go along with this walk of shame. And much of the same soundtrack.
This year, on my daughter's birthday, I told her I would pick her and her friend up from school. They had cupcakes and musical instruments and backpacks. Too much to carry on the bus so I offered to pick up as a treat. Like a birthday bonus, "It's your special day!" And then I forgot. Completely. On her birthday. I saunter out to the bus stop 15 minutes after the pickup time and it hits me. I forgot my daughter AND her friend. ON HER BIRTHDAY!
After imagining tears and calling the school, I raced across town. I park and rush in. The halls are empty. Flashback! It was a whole new walk of shame. So different but so similar. Walking down a quiet hallway in the off hours. Custodial staff watching me walk ashamed down the hall. The same feelings accompanied by the sounds of cleaning. Feeling judged. (Bad mommy.) Feeling embarrassed. (I'll have to walk out with the forgotten child wearing the paper birthday crown! Everyone will know it's worse than JUST forgetting!)
I get to the principle's office and there they are. With their bags and cupcakes and instruments. I start the whole diversionary routine, trying to make a joke, "Can you believe I did that?! We always say I'm forgetful but this?! Boy, oh, boy! What a story you have to tell!" Luckily for me, it sort of worked. But only because the friend was there. A comrade in "mother bashing". They could laugh and complain to each other. If she had been alone? With nothing to do but think of how awful it is for your mother to forget you on your birthday? Tears would've been flowing. I was so grateful that she had a friend with her that it was even worth having to 'fess up to the other parent that I am a total flake.
I'll be hearing about that at family gatherings forever. They love to trot out the bad parent stories...
P.S. And really, at 9 years old, I only forgot her once. (Maybe twice.) So that's once in over 3200 days! (Maybe twice.) That's a pretty stellar record...
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