When I Had a Little Class

When I had a little class,

The children weren’t extensions of myself.

They were other people’s children, after all,

Not parts of me presented to the world.

.

Five days a week, I filled eight hours

With play and care their parents could not give,

Because their parents worked at other jobs,

While I worked at my job of teaching them

.

To wash their hands before they ate,

And put away their toys and count to ten,

And to say “I’m sorry” when they hurt someone,

And shapes and colors and the ABCs.

.

But they were not part of me,

And so I let them go when day was done.

I never pondered if they really loved me,

Or if my words could scar them all for life,

.

Or how they would do in high school,

Or if their habits were considered normal,

Or if I was giving them enough attention,

Or if I was giving them too much attention.

.

I did not take it personally

When a child said I was unfair or mean,

Or when one said, “I hate you!” to my face,

Or when one lied to me with a big smile.

.

Then I became a mother,

And I lost my class. I traded it

For twenty years of worry, anger, spite,

Fear, resentment, guilt, mixed-up with love.

.

I missed the class I had

Before my children held me in their grip,

But now they’re young adults with their own lives,

So maybe I will find my class again.

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This poem was originally published on Medium.com.