My son is only four. We’ve rarely had to deal with other parents because he’s not in any kind of play groups where moms get together or any organized sports. The only “other parents” we encounter are at the park or from the daycare. So far, the daycare parents we’ve met seem pretty cool.

Then came the other parents I’ve been waiting to officially encounter, and not just overhear on the playground. It was at a birthday party this past Saturday. Earlier in the week, I’d run into a mom who had a son in the same daycare, but took him out over 6 months ago.  I will give her this: she’s a very warm, incredibly friendly person, though a bit hippy-ish with all her books on crystals and energies in the bathroom, the animal farm in her 2 bedroom house (cats, a part timberwolf dog, tortoise, and 2 chinchillas) and all the eclectic furniture pieces (hand carved Indonesian wood doors to the hallway was her mother’s day present).  She invited us to her sons party, stressing heavily the fact that there is a pirate ship in the back yard.  I’d heard of this homemade pirate ship before, and that alone stoked my desire to check out this kids shindig.

We arrive, meet the animals, get the tour, have some wine and food, and sure enough, there’s a kid sized pirate ship in the back yard 2 stories high complete with masts and sails, the helm, and comfy benches below deck to hang with your buds and say “arrrgh.” We meet a few guests and get asked how we know the hosts. Almost every time we say our kids used to go to the same daycare, we get asked where our son is going to school now.

“He’s still at the same day care,” we reply, but after a few times, I suddenly wonder if I am just still ill, or am I really getting a strange vibe off these people?

Then another woman arrives who also used to have her son (also Kieran’s age) at the daycare. The host asks if we remember eachother, and we do, though not our names. Then she asks, “So, where does Kieran go to school now?”
“Oh he’s still at Ya Ya’s,” I say.
“Still?!” she spurts, with such surprise, I thought she might drop the baby she was carrying on her hip.   “How old IS he?”
“Well, he’s four…” I stammer, not sure what to say to this.  Now she quickly tries to cover.
“Oh well, Ya Ya teaches them a lot. I guess…what more do you need?”
“Right. Heh heh.”
The conversation was pretty much over after that. I got away as fast as I could.

What I really wish I could have said, with so much seriousness it would’ve been a slap in the face, was, “Well,  I guess he could be studying Latin, painting a masterpiece and solving quadratic equations, but really. we decided to go easy on him. He’s FOUR!”

I knew they were out there. We’ve overheard their talk about schools and teachings and learnings and special this and embrace that and oh hell, I’m gonna be sick. But here was my first direct encounter.