It Takes a Village

My friend Ellen once said 'It takes a village to rescue a dog.'  I  contemplate my Quacker Jack who was found as a new born puppy, abandoned on the side of the road in Mississippi, with his Mama and lots of little puppy siblings.   A veterinarian student discovered the family and brought them to a shelter. The people at the shelter worked to find a no-kill shelter in the north that would take them in. The transport team brought them to New Hampshire.  The shelter found a foster family to care for them until the puppies were old enough to be adopted. So many people touched the life of my dog before I ever met him. I'll always be grateful that they took the time to care for him so that he could become my dog.

For me it doesn't stop there...it takes a village not just to rescue a dog but to raise a child.  If all those strangers can impact the life of a puppy in his first eight weeks of life, what about all those people who wander in and out of the lives of my children? Aunts and uncles, grandparents and cousins, teachers and coaches, parents of friends, the list is long. Each person touches my child, some good, some bad but they all leave their mark. I hear the stories, what the coach thinks, what the teacher says, how that other parent behaves.  It is all fair game for dinner table conversation.

Some people are only there for a sport season, or a school year. But some stick around for years and years. It would be naive of me to think that my children don't love these people who circle the fringes of our lives. I've seen it. I've heard it. I've felt it.  Too often I don't give these peripheral people their due. Perhaps I don't see their value. Perhaps I take them for granted. Yet they are there, in the trenches, raising my children with me. Even when I think I'm on my own, they are there. The teacher planning a lesson or grading a paper, the coach volunteering his time four nights a week, or the parent that feeds my kid dinner and tucks him in for a sleepover.

My son with Asperger's went to a private school. For six hours a day he was under the care and supervision of another woman.  She helped him. She advocated for him. She disciplined him. For six years. Then she died. The sense of loss and grief I felt was extreme for this woman that I barely knew. But what I did know was that my son loved her and she loved him. I remember asking him if there was anything I could do. He replied, "No, you can't bring her back."  That was the moment that I realized how vitally important the village is, to me and my children.

I'm part of the village now. I cook dinner for other people's kids. I ask your teenager about his girlfriend, his grades and his summer job.   I've had the raincoat talk with boys that aren't my own. I pick up your kid when he gets hurt on the playground and walk him into the nurse. I sit at school and listen to your children read and I hear their stories.  I cheer for your kid when he hits a home run and then I hug him when he's crying on the last day of school.  I'll even tell your kid to stop throwing rocks when she is being naughty.

I'm part of your village and you are part of mine. Just recently I hugged my son while he cried.  Together we mourned the death of his friend's father. Papa is gone. He was a part of our village and he will be missed. Never again will I take my village for granted. I see the time and effort and love that you put into my children.  I appreciate it.  Speak wisely,  act with kindness. My children are watching you and you matter to them and to me.