...he's got the whole world in his hands...

I posted a photo to my social media accounts the other day.  A photo of my son, holding a dish with two waffle bowls stacked atop one another, with the comment "He's got the whole world in his hands..."  I'll ask his permission later, and paste it in if allowed.  

The waffle bowl maker is new to our household.  A Christmas gift.  An idyllic daydream of homemade gluten-free waffle bowls to hold fruit salads and ice cream sundaes, sparked by an ad in a weekly flier.  A "must have" that we didn't know we needed until we used it the first time. 

P.s.-It's the Dash Deluxe Waffle Bowl Maker, available at Bed Bath and Beyond. 
Okay, so first things first.... #notanad  #notasponsoredpost #shillfree

Now that we've cleared that up...

It's not about the waffle bowl maker...or the waffle bowl.  It's not about food at all.  

It's about that photo, and the comment I wrote with it.  "He's got the whole world in his hands..."

It got me thinking...about the words..."the whole world"..."in his hands"...  

We say of our children that they've:

"The world on a string"

"Endless possibilities"

"Limitless opportunities"

"Open doors"

We tell them that they can dare to dream.

But as I said, that photo got me thinking.  It reminded me, oddly enough, of a video that's gone viral (or at least I think it has) where a simple footrace becomes a lesson in privilege as those participants who don't meet certain criteria aren't permitted to move forward towards the goal.  They're all allowed to run, of course, when the buzzer sounds...but the starting point is different for each individual with a select few...a select privileged few...far closer to the finish line right from the start.  For those few, it won't take talent or strength or stamina to win.  For those few, it won't even take speed.  They're so close they can't help but stumble across the finish line far sooner than those left behind at the start.  And why?  Why are those few granted that privilege?  In the video, it's because of what they were born into.  A certain financial status.  A two-parent home.  A family history of educational achievement.  In other words...

Status. 

In the case of those privileged few, they were allowed to move closer to the finish line regardless of any achievement on their end, but rather because of things they had no control over.  Simply put, they were given a jumpstart by the mere accident of their birth.

In counterpoint, there were runners left behind.  Some all the way back at the initial start point.  They, too, were subject to the folly of rules that decided their fate based solely on circumstance.  Sure, they could still participate.  They could still give it their all.  They might even be the fastest runners that day.  But, barring some miraculous event, no matter their talents or strength or stamina, they could not win.  They couldn't make up in skill, the benefit of that jumpstart.  No matter their speed, they were too far behind to ever catch all the way up...too far behind to be able to overtake those privileged few...too far behind to have a fair chance...

Privilege has been on my mind lately.  Privilege and status and circumstance.

And worth.

Or, rather, the judgment of worthiness and what parameters define it.

It's been on my mind as I try to level the playing field in some small way, for two children whose circumstance...whose accident of birth...hasn't afforded them much, if any, privilege.

It's been on my mind as I try to come up with meaningful, beneficial ways to increase their privilege. 

It's been on my mind as I can't help but compare their opportunities, or lack thereof, to those my son has had simply because he was born to me.  

I think, as a mother, it's nigh on unavoidable to not feel the heart bleed a bit for children who don't have what you have been able to provide for yours.

And then I posted a cute photo with a twee comment and sparked a whole set of inter-related queries in my own mind.  Because...

It's not true.

He doesn't.

Regardless of his talent or strength or stamina.  Regardless of his skill.

Regardless of his daring to dream.

He doesn't have the world in his hands.

There are limits...on possibilities, on opportunities, on open doors...

Limits based solely on his circumstance.

Limitations, that not only slow his race but in some cases, completely impede it.

Limitations, that define the course of his life by whatever he is privileged enough to have been born into, be raised up in, learn or earn.  

Limitations that define the scope of his dreams around his circumstance.

Years ago, I told his middle school case manager that one of my biggest parenting goals was to make his world as big as possible.  I want him to experience as much of life as is possible.  I want him to see everything the world has to offer...new places, new faces, new stories...   I want to introduce him to the unfamiliar at every turn.  I want him to never feel limited by our finances or location or status.  I want for him to feel limitless.

I want for him to feel privileged despite his circumstance.

I want his dreams to be undefined...to be free...to grow so much bigger than the walls of the world we live in...so much bigger than the lines on the map that define where we've been...so much bigger than my bank account or my time or my knowledge and abilities and skills and creativity.

I want him to be privileged beyond the circumstance of having me for a mother.

To be undefined by what I have made of this life.  To be able to expand far past what I have been able to provide for him.

I want him to have a level playing field.  To have the same starting line.  To have the same chance.

I want it.

But it's not reality.

It's not attainable, just for the wanting...the wishing.

He's growing up, confined by the dollar amount in my bank account and the walls of our apartment and the symptoms of his autism and the experiences I am too afraid to pursue.  He's growing up, limited by me.

No matter how big I try to make his world, there's so much more out there beyond what I can provide for him or introduce him to or set him on the path of.

There's accident of birth and circumstance and status and privilege.  There are doors that he'll never even know are closed, because they're behind walls he'll never see over.

He knows something of privilege.

He knows that we are poor in comparison to some and rich in comparison to others.  He knows we help others often.  He knows sometimes we've needed help.

He has two friends whose status far exceed ours.  He's hung out with them at their homes and come home, both marveling and morose at the notion that our whole apartment could easily fit in a bathroom or walk-in closet or...

That what in his world must be treated as a rare indulgence is commonplace to them.

That what I must save up to be able to afford is an easy, pocket-change purchase to them.

He lives and attends school in an area steeped in status.  New money and mcMansions interspersed with upper-middle-class comforts.  Children raised by nannies.  Young people who, at 14 and 15, have a sense of entitlement that leaves little room for empathy or inclusion.

 He's been picked on for not wearing the trendy sneakers.  He's been made fun of because his gym shorts aren't a brand label.

He competes for gpa rankings and academic honours with students whose privilege affords them private tutors and testing practice.

They've never even seen his starting line, much less been there.

He knows something of privilege.

He knows well the accident of right-time/right-place that put a 3d printer in his workspace so he could jumpstart his dream business.

He knows the trips we've taken and items we've purchased and entertainments we've pursued.

He knows the security of a roof over his head, food on the table, clothes on his body, heat and hot water.  He knows the certainty of those clothes being clean and well-cared for and seasonally appropriate. He knows that he'll have shoes that fit properly and school supplies that serve his needs and medicines that assuage and prevent and heal.  He knows that he will not go hungry.

He knows the comfort of a mother who is always available to him.  The fearlessness that comes from having a parent who advocates for him at every turn.  The confidence that comes from her...me...always making him a priority.  

He knows something of privilege.

He hasn't been merciless to a parent strung out on drugs.  He hasn't been abandoned or neglected.  He's never been abused by a parent who struggles with emotional and mental disorders.   He hasn't been pulled from his home by CPS.  He hasn't worried that he'll lose his family.  He's never been concerned about when he'll get his next meal or if there will be clothing to wear or if he can sleep without being bitten by pests.  He doesn't have to fear eviction.

He knows that he is privileged.

And he knows that he is not.

He's got the whole world in his hands...the world he knows...the one I have painstakingly crafted and created for him.  He's got the world of my resources and abilities...of my circumstances in his hands.

But you and I both know that world is always, forever being defined and limited by others...by those whose privilege makes them feel they are entitled to judge his worth. 

I hope he dares to dream far beyond those judgments and those who make them.

I hope he skips past privilege and creates his own starting line.

I hope he never has to spend a moment 'catching up' to those who've been privileged enough to start out ahead...and if that isn't possible, I hope he's not exhausted by the race he started running before them.

And I hope that my efforts to afford those two children some privilege of their own will succeed. 

~Leanna

Permission, granted!

And, if you haven't seen it, here's the video that I mentioned:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FBQx8FmOT_0&fbclid=IwAR0oMhI06SwG4Cp55JCzNucc5cYnlUqeXGdsQpaLGZb7lB_D6K_PZjbnEK0