That Time My Daughter Accidentally Told Everyone We Were ...😈

Hello magical friends!

A Story for Fall Festival Season

I thought I'd share a story today that always comes to mind this time of year because the "big reveal" happened at my kids' charter school's annual Harvest Festival. I recall that festival so fondly when the weather finally starts to cool here. 

A little background: When my kids were younger, we did some school bouncing due to assorted learning differences. We eventually landed at a super crunchy Waldorf School that I desperately hoped would be our salvation. I really wanted to settle in and love this school. The hands-on nature of their curriculum particularly appealed to me—they taught knitting, gardening, and basic food prep. 

Kids were celebrated for their differences, and organized religion was kept to a minimum. School parties and celebrations were more seasonal and nature focused, as opposed to being about any one religion's holiday. It felt a little witchy even. I liked that, especially since we were transferring from an evangelical community where my Jewish kids had been a major minority and had been lightly bullied because of it. 

My oldest daughter even (privately) decided she wasn't going to tell anyone at her new school about being Jewish. Instead, she thought she'd say she didn't believe in anything in particular. She meant to tell people our family were atheists.

Except, due to her dyslexia and learning differences, she forgot the correct term and subbed in another. This happened often with her and still does from time to time—usually with comic effect. We call them "Marlyisms."

This is one we'll never forget, and she'll never live down, because it was so epic.

The Big Misunderstanding

What did my daughter tell her classmates about our family's religious beliefs? Was it some bastardized version of "atheist"?

Nope. She went straight for the gold and spread the news far and wide that we were a family of practicing Satanists.

Fast forward a few months: nobody wants to sit next to me at parent-teacher committee meetings. Everything I offer to bake, make, or bring to events is politely declined. My daughters aren't getting invited to sleepovers, and I'm starting to get a complex about the constant cold shoulder.

At first I wondered if it was because I failed to remove all clothing with logos from my kids' wardrobes. Then I feared it might be because I complained about kindergarteners running with knives and swinging metal shovels at recess. I'm all for independence, but there was a limit to my tolerance of free-range education, particularly when my kid broke a leg during a poorly supervised recess. I was more concerned about him losing an eye in an encounter with a knife-wielding classmate than with one wearing a branded Muppets tee.

Over time I noticed several parents belonged to the same evangelical church as families at the prior school where my kids were bullied. I suspected that was part of it. I withdrew from the parent-teacher committee and cultivated friends elsewhere.

I should note that there were still many lovely things about the Waldorf school that we enjoyed during our years there. We particularly loved the annual May Fairs and Harvest Festivals filled with crunchy crafty wonder. We continued attending these festivals for years after our kids moved on.

The Revelation

It was at one of these return visits—my oldest daughter in high school by then—that we ran into some of her old friends.

"Hey Marly," they said, "Are your family still practicing Satanists?"

She froze, shock and horror on her face. "What?"

I was confused.

"You know, Satanists," they repeated. "You said your family worships the devil. My parents wouldn't let me invite you to sleepovers."

My daughter, realizing her mistake, was beside herself. "That's not what I meant!"

I, however, was thoroughly vindicated. Years of awkward silence explained in an instant. It wasn't my imagination. We were being discriminated against—just not for the reasons I'd assumed! I still think it's a shame she didn't say Pagans instead of Satanists. I think most of those parents would have been cool with us being Pagan (or Jewish for that matter) but Satanists was just a step too far for them. 

The Lesson

This story is funny, but it's also cautionary, and especially in these times. It's so easy for people to make assumptions, and for those assumptions to have real impact. We felt (and were) so unwelcome in that community for the silliest of reasons. I'm glad we can laugh about it now, but my heart still hurts knowing this sort of thing happens all the time, and not always with such a comically revelatory ending.