What I didn't know about The Village

When my son was born, we lived 450 miles away from our families. Two weeks after his first birthday, we moved halfway across the country, to a place that’s… yup, 480 miles away from our families. Such is the nature of careers in higher education; there’s a lot of moving involved, and not a lot of choice.

It also meant we had to build a network of support where we landed. Some of that support system was grown over time; investing in friendships and making room in busy schedules to connect. Some of it came about by chance. And, as it turns out, the biggest piece of the puzzle that supported our family over the last few years felt a little bit like fate.

Any one who’s gone through the process of finding a daycare or preschool knows it can be stressful. Call after call, looking for places with openings— looking for places that offer part time care with openings— can start to feel like a lost cause. But one morning, you might get a call from a friendly-sounding woman who says she thinks she has room for your son on the days you need care. So you do a visit. And it feels like a good fit. A couple of months later, you pack a little bag for him with changes of clothes and pacifiers and a soft blanket. You haul a large box of diapers and wipes in one arm while you carry your not-yet-walking toddler in the other. And you drive him to this little white converted church and leave him people you don’t know, but whom you feel like you can trust.

A few months later, you find out your teaching schedule is all over the place. It’s going to be changing every five weeks (see above re: working in higher ed and not having lots of choices). But the kind woman who owns the daycare where you take your son twice a week tells you, “We can make this work. Just let me know what you need.” And that was the moment I started to realize this place and these people weren’t just taking care of our son. They were taking care of our family.

I grew up hearing about “The Village.” I think the first time I heard the term was when Hillary Clinton was on TV, promoting her book in the mid-90s. I remember thinking it was a nice idea, that a community helps raise a child. As I got older, I figured that meant family, close friends, maybe neighbors. Until I actually had a child and my family lived three states away and all of my close friends were spread wide across the country. I started to realize: The Village is your boss who helps you work out a flex schedule during your child’s first year of life so you can be home with him more, and coworkers who brought you meals when you were on maternity leave.

And it’s also the people in the little white building where you take your son five days a week. The ones who helped him learn to walk, who patted him to sleep for naps, who taught him how to write his name, and taught him to say “please” and “thank you” with baby sign language long before you ever thought to introduce them, because he wasn’t talking yet. They’re also the people who kept your baby safe during a global pandemic. The ones who did their own risk assessment every time they came to work, and decided it was worth it. And so they also helped you keep your job. They helped your child navigate his first friendships and taught him lessons in empathy and care for others.

Until one day, he’s five years old. And you hand him his backpack and he climbs into the carseat on his own. And once the buckles click, you drive him to a little white converted church and leave him at this building with people you now know quite well, and would trust with your life. One last time.

To the people who spend their days helping us raise our kids: I hope you know what it means to us. How we will never forget the love and care you’ve shown our family. Thank you.