She said she wanted to try something. She has been in online school, which is good for her learning but leaves something to be desired in the arena of running around outside with other human beings her age.
I said yes before she finished the sentence.
I said yes because for a while — for too long a while — she didn't want to try things. She stayed in. She stayed safe. There were reasons for that, real ones, and we lived through all of them. But I watched her slowly, carefully, decide to take up space again in the world outside our apartment. And when she said she wanted to join something, I was not going to let my tired knees or my overbooked calendar be the reason she heard no.
So she joined. And I joined the folding chair club.
The folding chair club is the unofficial fellowship of parents who sit on the sidelines of things their children are doing. We show up early. We bring our own chairs — the nice kind, with the cup holder built in, because we have been doing this long enough to know about the cup holder. We wear layers because it is always somehow colder than expected outside. We cheer. We cringe when our kids fall. We clap hard when they get back up.
I have been in that chair club before, years ago, when my older kids were small. I thought that chapter of my life was long done. And here I am again, folding chair and all, watching my youngest figure out how her body works in a group and how to be part of something and what it feels like to do a hard thing in front of other people.
She looked over at me during one of the practices. Just checked that I was there. I waved. She turned back. That two-second check-in — that is everything. That is the whole reason for the folding chair.
Your kid does not always need you to do the thing with them. Sometimes they just need to know you showed up to watch.
Get your chair. Bring the cup holder. Show up.
Buckle up, buttercup. The sideline is a sacred place. Don't miss it.