November 3, 2017 by Amy
It’s not heavy. It’s my backpack.
Yesterday morning, in an effort to help my child who is still struggling with a Halloween hangover, I loaded her laptop and power cord into her backpack and went to move it to the door. I actually grunted when I picked up her pack. The thing has some heft. It’s all Vera Bradley bright flowers and quilted softness, but it’s stuffed to the gills with paper and tech. Then I remembered that she had band today and needed to haul her clarinet in, too. Out of curiosity, I toted everything back to my bathroom and set it all on the scale. Her load clocked in at 26 pounds.
Twenty-six pounds.
This is astounding to me. I carted it all back to the door and, once I stopped breathing heavily, retrieved my daughter from her room. “Come here. Get on this scale.” I’m sure she thought I was crazy, but since she’s a good girl and knows not to question Mommy first thing in the morning before Mommy has had her coffee, she followed orders. She stood on the scale and we both squinted down at the dial. She weighs, on that scale at least, 71 pounds.
This means she had to haul into school a bag that weighs more than a third of what she weighs. Thirty-seven percent of what she weighs, to be precise. (Yes, I had to use the calculator on my phone to figure that. No judging.)
This is crazy. She’s so slight, a wisp of a girl, and she’s got this giant pack hanging off her back. I told her why I had weighed her, and how much her pack weighs. She shrugged. “I know. It’s really heavy. It’s always like that. I have a lot of homework.” Then she went back to brush her teeth and finish getting ready for school.
I immediately texted my husband, also known as her father, to share the outrage. He was out of town on business this week, but he’s always accessible when I need him. Especially when it’s a matter of dire importance, like a 26-pound 6th grade backpack. Surely something must be done! As parents, we will unite in support of our daughter! Righteous indignation in the pursuit of physical health and wellbeing shall reign! Okay, so maybe we won’t do anything, but at least he can be appalled with me and we can commiserate over shared parental concern.
He texted back: Work early and hard now. It will pay $.
Seriously? Dude…that’s your response? Let’s not worry about the spinal integrity of our child. Let’s not make sure she’s healthy. Let’s celebrate 26 freakin’ pounds of knowledge, baby! Keep truckin’, little girl. You may end up looking like the Hunchback of Notre Dame, but you’ll have a good job with benefits and stock options. Heck, you might even make enough money to hire people to carry the overloaded backpacks of your own children so they won’t suffer the same fate as you.
I did not bother to reply.
This right here, my friends, is a prime example of how mothers and fathers are different.
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