O'Laughlin: When
Liberal Convictions Run Into the Reality of Parenting
Eat Chick-fil-A? No way. At least until my
boys spied one with an indoor play area while we were on an 18-hour drive.
By Carolyn O'Laughlin in the Wall Street Journal
Eight hours into our
18-hour trip to grandma's house for a visit, we can see the Chick-fil-A indoor
play area before we even get to the exit. It's going to lose us points on our
big gay report card, but it's going to win us half an hour of peace as our two
boys stop whining to climb through tunnels and their bleary-eyed moms sip hot
coffee.
Chick-fil-A has been
on my list of places to avoid since Dan Cathy, president and CEO, went on
record indicating his support for only families that meet the "biblical
definition of the family unit." Before having kids, every time there was
an antigay policy or pronouncement from a business or organization—including
the chairman of the Barilla pasta company or the Boy Scouts of America, which
still won't accept gay troop leaders—I would boycott and spend my time and
money elsewhere.
Now I'm not so much
boycotting as I am raising boys, and that has put a dent in my consumer
consciousness. I want to instill in the children the values and beliefs that my
wife and I share: to be proud of their family. Yet on a long road trip, our
two-mom, two-child family, which I support, needs a restaurant with a
playground. In this case, that's Chick-fil-A.
In a perfect world, I
could have driven farther along until I found a perfect alternative—perhaps a
McDonald's or, better yet, a small, kid-friendly farm-to-table bistro. But that
world is not pointed out via exit sign on Interstate 95, and my politics and my
parenting are at odds.
In discussions about
such dilemmas with friends and on Facebook I get annoyed by the snide comments from
acquaintances of my punchier political past. The knot in my stomach sometimes
seems to be caused by their arrogance; yet the knot tightens when I think about
where I maybe should be spending my money—but don't.
I was all tied up in a
bow one Christmas when my wife and I decided we'd spend a good share of our
shopping budget at J.C. Penney, which had Ellen DeGeneres as a spokesperson
and featured families like ours in their ads. I persuaded myself that shopping
could be almost a form of political speech—matching my consumer dollars to my
politics.
That all fell apart
when we pulled into the parking lot. Between the bizarre traffic pattern and
the random carts strewed about, I could barely find a spot. When I finally did,
I stepped out of the car and into a pothole, twisting my ankle and landing on
my face. The keys never left my hands. I was back in the car and across the
street at a different big-box store, now dropping my dollars on assorted ankle
bandages.
Similarly, I
appreciate Starbucks and
its donations to marriage equality. However, I can't make sense of spending
more on a paper cup of coffee than I would on a pound of it at the grocery
store.
This summer, my older
son turned 6. He's a shy, nonathletic child who wants nothing more than to make
friends, yet he has a hard time socially. A neighbor suggested we consider
signing him up for Cub Scouts.
"Boy Scouts? You
think that's a good idea?" I asked, nodding toward my wife and the rainbow
sticker on our minivan. The neighbor replied, reassuringly, "This local
group is really diverse and great. You will fit right in."
I hesitated. But then
I signed up my son. I may have an ideological grievance with the Boy Scouts of
America, but the scouts themselves—the little 8- and 9-year-old boys who cheer
when my kid does a push-up or improves his overhand throw—are not the culprits.
At the first pack event, they seemed like little heroes, better for my guy's
social skills and self-esteem than anything else my limited resources offer.
Besides, these scouts
and scout families at the local level are doing good work, serving the
community, developing friendships, learning about nature. If I snub them, where
does that get me? And what is it, exactly, that they are doing that I oppose?
Life is complicated.
My most important goal is to raise kids with an understanding of nuance, to
realize that almost nothing is all good or all bad. In my practical life, I
cannot afford the equivalent of government shutdown as I wait for the
"others" to concede.
Back at that
Chick-fil-A, I'm in the terrarium-tunnel playroom, regretting the decision to
stop there. No, the CEO did not jump out of the hidey-hole slide, point at me
with the wing of his chicken suit and yell "You're one of the gays!"
as I had imagined. But there are too many travel-weary kids in the small room,
and kid skirmishes about kid justice ("I was here first!" "He's
breathing on me!") grate on my last nerve.
"Let's get out of
here." I say to my boys.
We pass by the drink
island and they see their other mom, tray piled with soft drinks, boxes of
chicken stuff and ice-cream sundaes. "Mommy!" yells the younger one
to her. "Mom says we're getting out of here!"
Standing outside, my
wife and I look around with road-trip decision paralysis. A kind Chick-fil-A
employee comes toward us with four trays. "Y'all could sit on these if
you'd like," she says. We smile, thank her, and set up a picnic on the
grassy island between the parking lots of Chick-fil-A and Burger
King. We're
having it our way.
Ms. O'Laughlin is the
director of Residence Life at Sarah Lawrence College.
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