Now, you'll remember that we're a mostly Jewish family in the south, and I spend some time working on finding my religion.
If you knew me a few years ago, or have skimmed back that far, you'd have seen our family discussion addressing the age old question of where does Santa live?
You may have even brushed up on how I was Cookie Swap Virgin many moons ago.
But I'm good now.
We're a beautifully blended holiday household, and despite the questions this sometimes brings, we usually coast through them.
But the whole "He Has Risen" thing? Yeah. Not so sure that's the way to go. Not so sure that I want to be teaching that to my 6-year-old. Especially when this is not what her father and I believe. I know it's a huge part of many people's beliefs. Many people. And it means so much to them. I don't judge. I don't scorn. I respect. I acknowledge. But I don't believe. And that should be as okay as them believing, because we're different. And it's not that I don't plan to or want to expose my child to different beliefs. It's just that. *I* want to. I don't want someone ELSE to. Especially not at a public school.
Again - it's great for you, for any of you. It's just not how my family works.
But I moved forward. We read the book the other night. Kind of - sort of. I'll admit, I wasn't looking forward to bringing Jesus forth. Inviting him into our home, since I don't know much about him. I could say he was Jewish (he was, right?). I could say people believe he was the son of G-d. But I've barely scratched the surface of Judaism. This is my fault, sure, but I've got my own timeline in mind. Why should I have to cross it for another religion because of a book she brought home from school?
You're right. I shouldn't.
Turns out I mostly didn't have to. She wanted to turn to the page where the kids were dressed up as animals for the parade. Awesome. She wanted to look at the pretty pictures. We skimmed through. I explained that Easter is a holiday. But it's not really a holiday that WE celebrate. Mommy is Jewish and she is Jewish, and Daddy is not religious, so we don't really do much to celebrate Easter. But we celebrate (sort of - again - I'm off target here, as well, I know. ANd have my own guilt, but that's a whole other part of the story,) Passover.
She's fine. She proceeds to tell me the book is "fiction" ... ah, yeah. Wait. Hold up on that. I work to explain that it isn't fiction to many people, it's just not what we believe.
She continues. Tells me that books with kids dressed up as animals? Fiction.
Animals that talk? Fiction.
She went on. It was pretty cool.
But I had to tackle the subject. Or so I thought.
She explained it to me perfectly.
"We don't celebrate Easter because we're Jewish and Maine-ish."
Honestly? I laughed so hard I pulled her into my arms and into the biggest hug ever. Of all time.
"Mommy, I don't know how to say Maine like Jewish."
It's okay, baby. It doesn't really work that way. But it's okay.
See - what's it matter? What does it really matter what we are or how we are or how it all works?
We're people. We believe what we believe. We're from wherever we're from. We love how we love and we feel what we feel. And so it goes.