Saaawwww-rrreeeee (Sorry)

Last week I received a voice mail from Peyton's teacher. Just typing that sentence made my stomach leap into twisty knots. My goal as a student was to fly under the radar so that a teacher's call home to my parents was never ever necessary. I've tried to instill that same healthy fear with my children but since their other mother is a teacher, I don't know that I will succeed. The majority of my adult life has been spent partnered with a teacher. We've had teachers at our house for meals and picnics. We've hosted baby showers and holiday parties and year-end celebrations for teachers. Some of my closest friends are teachers and principals. Yet, as soon as I heard the words, "Miss Denney, this is Mrs. Seidel, Peyton's teacher" my knees felt weak.

Maybe I feel this way because I have yet to get to a first name basis with Peyton's teachers. I call Peyton's principal, her kindergarten teacher and her current teacher all by their surnames. Two of them are younger than me and the other is most likely my contemporary. There is no other situation in my life where this occurs. The last time I called someone Mr. or Mrs. was as a child addressing my elders. I'm convinced this is a power play by educators to keep us parents from questioning too much. Most likely Beth would prefer it if I addressed her with a little more respect.

If the mere mention of Mrs. Seidel's name was enough to activate my sweat glands, her next sentence sent me into a fit. "There was an incident with Peyton at school today." This is not the first time we've had a call from the school. But each of the other calls have come from the nurse. They all start with "This is the school nurse. Peyton is fine but she fell on the playground and scraped her knees/elbows/shins/chin/etc."

The point of Mrs. Seidel's call was to inform me that Peyton had been a part of a food fight during lunch. Mrs. Seidel asked if I could please reinforce the message that this was inappropriate school behavior. I'm usually not sensitive to indirect messages but the teacher dynamic freaks me out. I'm quite sure the implication was that Peyton had never heard this message before because she was raised by wolves in a barn with absolutely no manner instruction.

Even though I had packed a peanut butter and jelly sandwich in Peyton's lunch, I had visions of her flinging plates of spaghetti through the lunch room. Doesn't every food fight include spaghetti with red sauce? It is the quintessential food fight item. Since I had only the information left on a voicemail, I had to fill in the details with my imagination. I envisioned Peyton commandeering the hot lunch line and flipping plates "frisbee style" into the mass of first grade humanity. I was convinced that teachers were slipping and sliding on patches of chocolate pudding and possibly even breaking hips. I conjured up lunch room anarchy.

Once I processed the words of the voicemail, I picked up the phone and called Beth. She was unavailable. She was probably calling some scared-out-her-mind mother to inform her about a food fight in the lunch room. In my heart I knew this would be a one of those parental growing opportunities that I often try to avoid. I would have to summon my inner torturer and design a punishment to match this horrific crime. Eventually I connected with Beth and we decided that we should engage in a Rice Krispy food fight and dance party and then force Peyton to clean up every crunched krispy.

After significant grilling, Beth was able to force a confession. Really, all Beth had to do was ask. Beth started by asking about Peyton's day. When Peyton chirped "fine," Beth unleashed crazy and inquired as to how a day could be considered fine if the teacher had to make a call home. Peyton crumbled. Her story, collaborated by several of her classmates, was that the entire table was tossing around a balled up napkin. Back and forth it sailed across the table. The classroom aide saw the whole thing and each kid who had thrown the napkin was banished to the naughty table in the lunch room.

I'm not one of those parents who minimizes the transgressions of their children but..... Really? A balled up napkin described as a food fight? Nonetheless my daughter had raised a ruckus, was punished at school and an apology was necessary.

Peyton's weak defense was that she didn't start it. Thankfully I had connected my filter that morning and refrained from commenting about how I would have preferred that she instigated rather than follow a crowd into that rather lame excuse for naughtiness.

At seven, Peyton has been apologizing for years now. Before our children could scream an intelligible "NO!" we had them trying to form the words "I'm sorry." Each time they succumbed to the toddler temptation of hitting or biting or throwing food, we taught them to apologize. It started as a sing-song-y "sawww--rrrreeee." Eventually we demanded they name their offense and ask for forgiveness.

When Bennett was three he walked up to his big sister, whacked her in the head with a plastic truck then put himself into timeout. I witnessed the entire crime and stood mouth agape as he sat in the time out chair and calmly told his sister he was sorry. He clearly knew what he had done was wrong but apparently calculated that the punishment paled in comparison to the sweet feeling of revenge.

I think apologies are basically the same from the time we are two and are making amends for throwing tantrums or food until the time we are adults and apologizing for seriously wounding a friend. There is a standard formula: admit wrong-doing, acknowledge the injury of the other party and ask for forgiveness.

Apologies don't change much when we deliver them as adults. But unlike when we were kids waiting out the duration of a 5-minute time out, as adults we let time go by and the injury and resulting infection to grow bigger. Most of my apologies are a result of some smart aleck comment I've made. Unfortunately the filter that would monitor my inappropriate and sometimes humorous comments isn't always connected. In those situations it's pretty easy for me to apologize immediately and do my best to repair.

It isn't quite as easy when the stakes are higher. When I make a big decision, I mostly consider all the sides and possible ramifications. Sometimes, despite my absolute certainty that I am correct, I injure a friend or colleague. These situations are the hardest for me. I am confident in my diligent research process. I'm pretty attuned to checking my moral compass. Occasionally I feel I did the right thing but my right thing has taken me out of relationship with a friend. Apologies don't come as quickly or easily in those situations.

I don't abide weaselly apologies like "I'm sorry if the situation has upset you." The translation for that apology is "I screwed you over and shouted hip, hip hooray as I was doing it!" If that is the best apology possible, then it is possible the apology should be skipped entirely.

What I've come to realize is that sometimes I decide between Option A and Option B as if they are my only choices. Sometimes they are. But far too often I've jumped into a decision without searching and working and creatively developing an Option C. And it is this elusive Option C that would have allowed us both to remain intact. The third option doesn't come easily; it's not always readily apparent. But, it is that decision which allows us both to walk away healthy rather than hurting.

There are a couple of people with whom my relationship is fractured. I need to apologize. I made what I felt like was the best decision possible. Perhaps that underestimates my creativity. I need to follow the formula: I screwed up and my small-minded thinking hurt you. I am sorry. Will you please forgive me?

The next part is out of my control. I can hope and wish and pray for forgiveness but I can't force someone or guilt them into it. The step after apology is not mine. And sometimes I think it is easier to apologize than to forgive. That doesn't absolve my responsibility. I have to start the process by apologizing.

The day after the food fight, Peyton walked up to Mrs Seidel and apologized just like we had rehearsed the night before. She told her teacher that she didn't throw food but she threw a napkin and that was wrong. While she hadn't started the fight, she should have been a leader and stopped it. She assured her teacher that she would be a leader the next time. Because Mrs. Seidel is a mom and a teacher and hides her angel wings underneath her teacher garb, she hugged Peyton and said: "You know what Peyton? I forgive you and I like you, a lot." And so my oldest daughter continues her education in apologies, forgiveness and reconciliation. Many years from now, if she is anything like me, she will still be learning.