Saturday night dinner party in a private room of a well-reviewed restaurant, I sit next to a woman with a very senior role in a giant global conglomerate. Bits and pieces of conversation reveal this late 40s woman has fought and endured living hell for this coveted post. The corporate headquarters where this woman is employed is in a Dallas suburb, but chitchat reveals my dinner partner lives in Highland Park (the Dallas social haven), has one child and does not have many interests outside working.

Honestly, this dinner party was one big bore because the side conversations were exclusive and tense as they hinged on business.  Aside from over-involvement with the plentiful Kir Royales and the salty waiter who needed an eyeliner application lesson, I had no choice but to become interested in this woman, Diane, and her narrow life. In a nutshell, Diane lives in an 10,000-square foot house by herself and works day and night.

Diane did not complain, but was smug as she shoveled out details of her life as if I would be impressed. Unhesitatingly, she pulled out each drawer of her chest and showed me the physical, mental and emotional contents.  Life was good for Diane, as her 7th-grade son had finally been handled. He was a “little devil” as she explained and thanks to the recommendation of his therapist had been shipped off to the “most beautiful” eastern boarding school Diane had ever seen. (For the record, Diane is fairly shinny and this might have been the first and only boarding school she’d ever seen. Also, after a little research it seems the school is not top of line but caters to problem kids with low academic skills, but it costs $60,000!!!! Phillips Exeter Academy, also in New Hampshire, is tops and costs $38,000. Poor Diane.)

“[His name was never mentioned] needs guidance and boundaries.  In New Hampshire he gets up at 5:30 a.m. for football practice, goes to classes, has proctored study halls and stays busy and on a schedule.”  Diane extolled the virtues of boarding school and expressed hope that NONAME will get into an Ivy because he is a big Texan who can play sports and “the Ivy’s don’t need super great athletes but ones who can do the academic work and also be fairly good on the field.” Peering into Diane’s mind,  I could vividly see her getting gooey with thoughts of placing a school-crested wool blanket over her lap as she sat on the tradition-filled campus of an eastern Ivy. (Not happening, Diane.)

Diane did not speak of NONAME’s father but it was apparent she is divorced from him, as her boyfriend sat across the Steuben glass centerpiece in his sports team t-shirt looking like Diane picked him up a the airport sandwich shop.  Maybe when Diane bought the Highland Park palace she and NONAME’s father were in love and were going to fill the house with children, or maybe Diane was going to break into the social scene and throw big parties, or maybe at the least she was going to host orgies and the big house had a purpose. Alas, maybe it was just an investment, but more than likely the large, empty concrete house IS Diane.

But what was NONAME’s purpose in the beginning?  Clearly Diane’s intention could not have been to parent NONAME because from our two-hour conversation she had never spent much time with NONAME as her workload kept her trotting around the globe and at the office most of the time. NONAME’s father did not sound like an available stay-at-home dad either. Guess busy and/or emotionally detached people have children all the time, but what is their motivation? Does biology demand a child be born or did Diane need to check "child" off her list?

“Next week I have a meeting in Boston so I will go see HIM.  Then at Thanksgiving we are going to Montreal and at Christmas we are going skiing.”  Minus the Connecticut lockjaw, Diane sounded like a real, emotionally distant boarding school parent (not that all boarding school parents are emotionally unavailable.) For poor NONAME it’s a dorm room or hotel; never a room of his own to lay or sit quietly and contemplate his lot in life.

NONAME’s peers probably share his same experiences, but at least they have a social pedigree and network to give them bragging rights during the hard times. “My mother has drinks with Andy Warhol in his grave and spent three weeks in rehab with Brit-Brit."  Diane doesn’t hang with the famous and can’t afford the time away from work that a drug addiction would take. Diane wears off-the-rack suits, has a graying bob with bangs, and gets her few jollies from bossing her secretary.

If NONAME lives to his 40th birthday it will be a miracle.  Diane, who has everything – career, child, travel, mansion-ette, elite memberships- has nothing. She might not recognize that when NONAME dies from an overdose or associated accident that she will have negative-nothing.

Don't, in any way, take this essay as a slam against working mothers because I am a working mother and fully support working mothers, but isn't there a point where you take a look at reality and see the social berserkism?

Comments

[sarah]

alright...i can't be silent any longer...i'm becoming addicted to your blog and i'm thrilled to know that the professor's wife is not quite as stuffy as the professor...we could be best friends, bitsy! (remember me?)

[The Dol]

Stories like this make me feel deeply sad. I can't imagine having a child and shipping said child off to the other end of the country. There are probably circumstances under which it is, heartwrenchingly, the best thing that good parents can do. But, I'm sorry, I know it's judgmental, I just think the lady in your post has blown it.

And, btw, my husband grew up in the Park Cities, so I have a picture in my head of the woman's 10,000 square foot mansion. Ugh. It's so different from where I grew up, and I have a hard time conceiving of the competitive, superficial crap that goes on in places like that. I know there are good people in those places (my husband's family being a case in point), but it wouldn't be where I'd want to live.

[Glennia]

Poor little NONAME. I am a working mom, and would not dream of sending my one and only to boarding school. I keep dreaming of quitting my job and being home to host playdates, bake brownies, and built forts in the backyard after school.

Oh hell, who am I kidding? I'd probably just waste more time blogging. But at least I'd be able to keep up with all my favorite blogs...like this one!