After School

for the 19 children and 2 teachers who will never get another After School, and their families

Yesterday after school, I took Oliver to his violin lesson. He’d been asking to take lessons for months: he loves the way violin sounds.

I sat in the basement of Jackson’s Music, smiling at the familiar, slightly musty scent of old furniture, old books, old instruments. Through the hollow door, I could hear Oliver’s teacher Olivia reveal new things about the violin in her throaty, calming alto voice. At the end of the lesson, he told her a funny story, struggling to get the words out through his laughter. They were both giggling by the time she opened the door and sent him back out to me.

We drove to Michael’s to find a t-shirt in a specific shade of magenta for his upcoming field day. We stopped to smell some candles, kept getting distracted on the way to the t-shirt section.

“We have to stay focused!” I said as some fairy house furniture caught our eye.

“No, Mom! Let’s go on a shopping spree!”

When we were ready to check out, he suggested going back to the candles. “It’ll be good for both of us,” he implored.

Instead, we went next door to Five Below for candy. He chose an enormous green jawbreaker and through sheer determination got through the first layer before we returned home.

“Hold this for a second!” he said, shoving the bags into my hands. Off he dashed, 20 yards of sidewalk between me and the Target. He climbed on top of the big red ball, raising his fist in triumph. He ran back to me laughing. Laughing, laughing.

This, I thought, is privilege.