Elizabeth Crane: The History of Great Things

Your reserve of questions is endless, and eventually I give up and tell you I don’t know everything, which happens on the first day of first grade. On the walk to school, you say Daddy knows everything, let’s ask Daddy , at which time I say We’ll talk about it after school , and you look up at your new school, which does not look like your old school, it looks to be covered in a hundred years of filth, dark and dirty and massive, like if you go in you will very obviously not come out, it looks like a big giant haunted house from a scary movie, not like your kindergarten in Louisiana, which was painted white and had a flower garden in front. Where are the flowers? Well, there might not be flowers at this school. Where is the playground? It’s right here, honey , I say, pointing to some girls doing double dutch . That’s an alley, Mommy, that’s not a playground , but it is a playground, it’s clearly connected to the school, and even if it is a crummy one, it’s definitely a playground, and you pull on me, trying to go back toward home, away from the doors of the school, you say I don’t want to go to this school , and I say You don’t get to pick, this is your school, come on, it’ll be great, you love school , and you say No, I don’t, this school looks like jail . You start crying for your father, Where’s Daddy, where’s Daddy, I want Daddy, I want Daddy , ceaselessly loud, gulping, inconsolable crying for your father. Daddy lives in Iowa now. What? Whyyyy? Remember, we told you before we came here, Daddy and Mommy don’t live together anymore? No you didn’t tell me that! Yes, honey, we did, you and I live here now, it’s your first day of school! No! I don’t remember anything! Sweetheart, you’ll make new friends, you’ll learn all kinds of new things. No! I don’t want new friends! I want Daddy! Come on, remember how much you love school? No! I don’t! I only love Daddy! I want to go back! I want Daddy! I remind you, again, that we explained about where Daddy was, and that you’d see him as soon as he sent us money. We don’t have money? Not enough. Why won’t he send it? He says he doesn’t have any more to send, but that isn’t true, his parents have plenty. Why won’t they send it? Because your grandmother isn’t a very nice person and she hates me, now come on, honey, let me walk you to your cubby. Noooo! It’s all I can do to get you to take off your jacket and hang it up. Honey, you have to stop crying. I can’t! I will never stop crying! You cry when the teacher gently takes your hand. Don’t goooo! It is reported to me later that you have cried all day. We go through this the next day and the next day, until I become sure you’ll never stop, and you don’t stop until around Thanksgiving, I suspect mostly because you’re finally exhausted.

Around this time, a girl in your class named Alex says hi when you get placed in a special group of kids who can already read. Another girl named Liz is also in this group, and the three of you become fast friends, having playdates at each other’s houses. We don’t do this at our house often. Because why? Because I can’t deal with it. That’s just the truth. I can handle one friend over at a time, if you play quietly in your room. So you go to the other girl’s houses, where you’re free to get more rambunctious (though you’re not what I’d call rambunctious anyway), where there are siblings, where there are toys and games and snacks other than celery and cream cheese. Alex and Liz are both nice, bright girls, much more outgoing than you, and one day at Alex’s house you and Alex and Liz are playing psychologist, which is what Alex’s mother does for a living. Alex is usually the psychologist in this game, since she knows the most about it, and Liz volunteers to be the first patient; you’re undecided at this point, so at first you just watch and learn. Alex sits in an armchair in the living room and directs Liz to sit on the sofa. Wait! Alex says I forgot something , reaches for a box of tissues to put in front of Liz. I don’t have a runny nose , Liz says, a little defensively, and Alex says It’s for if you have to cry , and Liz says I don’t have to cry , and Alex says You might feel like crying soon , and Liz says I won’t! although she does feel a tiny bit like crying already just because she doesn’t understand what Alex is talking about, and even Alex doesn’t exactly understand why there is crying in psychology. Alex herself has briefly been to a child psychologist, when she was four, doesn’t remember it so well, only remembers playing with some blocks and puppets. What Alex knows about adult psychology she has learned from her mother’s gentle explanation that sometimes people need to talk about their feelings, and also from what she picked up walking past her mother’s office door and hearing occasional loud sobs and complaints about husbands and not feeling understood by anyone.

So tell me about your feelings today , Alex says. My feelings are fine , Liz says. No, you can’t be fine, it’s boring if you’re fine , Alex explains. Okay, I’m feeling mad! Liz says. Great! Alex says. What are you feeling mad about? Liz doesn’t know what to say now, because of course she isn’t really mad. Are you mad because your parents are divorced? No. It’s okay if you are. My mom says it’s normal to be mad or sad about your parents being divorced. Well, I’m not. Are you sad? No! Okay, fine! What are you mad or sad about then? I’m not mad or sad. Have you ever been mad or sad?

At this point, you think about when you’ve been mad or sad, and if you’ve ever been mad or sad because your parents are divorced (you have for sure been sad), and what to call the other feelings you’ve had that aren’t quite mad or sad. Is confused a feeling?

I was sad last week when I stayed over at my dad’s and I had to leave to go back to my mom’s. Good! Very good! But then I was also sad when I had to leave Mom’s to go back to Dad’s.

Wait, you get to see them both? you say. Sure, silly, everyone does , Liz says. You say No! I don’t! Liz says You don’t what? You say I don’t get to see my dad anymore. Not even every other Wednesday? No. Liz gets to see her dad every other Wednesday? What does Wednesday have to do with it? That doesn’t make any sense — but it still sounds way better than seeing your dad on no day. Alex can tell by your silence and the slight downturn of a frown that something isn’t right here. Oh no , Alex says, you better take a turn getting some psychology now. Liz, you get up now and give Betsy that seat. You and Liz trade places and Alex says So what are those feelings like, not to see your dad? Alex has the idea that the word “feel” or “feeling” should be in just about every question she asks. Bad , you say. You’ve only last week stopped having round-the-clock bad feelings about this, and you are not in any hurry to get them back. Bad, yes, very good , Alex says. Why is that good? you ask, it doesn’t seem good at all, bad and good aren’t the same, how does she not understand that? Alex doesn’t know. Well, it just is, that’s all .

Your plan for when you get home is to ask me why can’t you see Daddy every other Wednesday, but when you get back, I am crying. So you table the question for the time being and bring me a box of tissues and ask me if I want to talk about my feelings.

When I’m not traveling, I take you to as many Broadway musicals as I can scrape together the cash for, which isn’t many, so instead I bring home records: Carousel, Oklahoma!, Godspell, The Sound of Music, Mary Poppins, My Fair Lady, Fiddler on the Roof . In 1969, in heaviest rotation, by a lot, is Funny Girl .