Sometimes late at night I lay awake in bed thinking about the world’s problems

I stare up at the ceiling or at the shadows on the wall and try to unravel it all in my head. And sometimes I quietly slip out of bed, kiss Jack on the top of the head and sneak out of the bedroom to write. That doesn’t happen very often, especially recently. Mostly, I ponder the world’s problems silently in my head while Jack nurses and Chris sleeps beside me.

But it has been too long since I have written, and my worries are too heavy for shadows to carry away. Tonight I got out of bed, kissed Jack on the top of the head and snuck out of the bedroom to boot up the computer.

Every Friday afternoon, I leave work at 1 pm and make my way to Jay’s school. I sign in at the office and head to his classroom where I spend the rest of the school day volunteering. I read with kids, I help with math and writing and free choice. I pick up stray crayons and stuff mailboxes and make photocopies. I clean up blocks and give hugs and hand out glue sticks. It is nothing extraordinary.

Nothing extraordinary, yet a complete reality check. I highly recommend that everyone with school aged children volunteer in their kid’s classroom. You’ll come home with this one simple truth: teachers work hard. Really fucking hard.

Jay’s teacher is remarkable. From early in the morning to late afternoon his calm demeanor and easy smile gives Jay a solid grounding and an even greater openness to learning. But Jay's teacher also spends a disproportionate amount of time with about five to seven of the same children day in and day out, dealing with behavior problems. They hit, kick, push, punch, mock, spit at, slap and scream at each other and the other kids. My heart aches to think that Jay falls victim to them from time to time. They’ve called the principal in. The principal has called their parents, only to receive such enlightened and supportive responses as, “Why you callin’ me again? That’s not my problem. School is school. That’s your problem. I don’t call you on the weekends when he don’t behave at home.”

I barely know where to start. When my next door neighbor whose daughter is in the same classroom and who also volunteers in the classroom showed up for her first volunteer day, she returned home in tears. The classroom, at maximum capacity with 21 kids in one kindergarten class, is a madhouse. Again, I want to take the time to praise Jay's teachers. They are fantastic teachers who are maxed out with behavior problems. But in my months of volunteering, I’ve seen firsthand the difference that parenting makes for individual kids, the classroom and by transitive property, for society.

I used to think the value we placed on parenting was overrated. Sure, parents need to provide a certain level of care and feeding, but eventually everyone grows up and adults have to be responsible for their own behavior. No one gets to keep pinning the blame on mom and dad’s parenting mishaps for the rest of their lives. And I still think that’s mostly true. But after becoming a parent of a kid in school, I gained an acute appreciation for the role parents play in shaping the world. And then I began staying up late at night, eyes wide with worry.

The value we place on parenting isn’t overrated. It is nearly all there is. Parenting is where it starts. It is the foundation of our schools, our community, our society. Our world.

Sitting in Jay’s classroom, I bet I can predict who, in twenty years will have a college diploma and who will have a rap sheet. It is akin to watching a slow motion train wreck. There are kids in his classroom who don’t get talked to at home, except when being yelled at. Kids that don’t have books at home. Kids that even when they have books at home don’t get read to. Kids that get threatened with physical violence at home and parrot those same ugly words to their classmates. To my son. Kids that truly rely on the school’s breakfast and lunch to satisfy their nutritional needs on an ongoing basis. These are not clichés. These are students who I talk with every Friday afternoon.

Instinctually, I want to pull Jay out of this school and move him to a school where the parents are highly involved, well educated, concerned about their kid’s behavior and motivated to help their kid succeed. But I know that while that might solve my immediate concerns, it won’t get at the bigger problem. It won’t help the other kids who can’t switch schools, it won’t help the teachers, it won’t help the school. And mostly, it won’t help those kids who are the perpetrators at school, but who are probably the victims at home .

But then Jay gets shoved or punched by one of these kids, and I think, screw it. We’re out of here. I’ll build him a cocoon and protect him from the mean kids on the playground and teach him to care for and respect all living things and…and…and…what? Walk in front of him for the rest of his life to make sure that he never steps on anything sharp or slips in a puddle? Go on job interviews with him to make sure the interviewer is being fair? Argue with his college professors over his grades?

Sigh.

The best lesson I can impress on him is the value of love. I’d like him to be a great reader. I’d love him to love math. I’d be thrilled if he had a knack for spelling or writing or science. But above all, the most important lesson I want him and Ella and Jack to learn from me is the power and the value of love and with that, the ability to emphasize with their fellow human beings. I am not fooling myself into thinking that a few hugs and more smiling will solve all of the world’s problems. But if every parent was on board with modeling and teaching the lesson of love, I guarantee you we’d have more college diplomas and fewer rap sheets.

And I'd be sleeping tonight, instead of watching the shadows on the wall.