Thirteen years ago Christopher started preschool a couple of mornings a week. He would wake up each morning and ask if it was a school day. When I would answer yes, he would be so excited. He'd get dressed, get his frog backpack, his lunchbox and stand at the door until we were ready to leave. I often heard him telling William (who was then only 9 months) all about "chool". We'd drop Sarah Katherine off at her classroom, and then every morning, the closer we got to his classroom the more tightly he would hold my hand. By the time we'd walked the hallway, he had a death grip . We'd walk into the classroom where each and every time he would grab me and begin the blood curdling scream, "Mommy please don't leave me! Don't leave me!!!!" And each morning his teacher would literally peel him off me, he would be turning red, and I would say, "I love you Boss. See you right after lunch. Have a good day." I'd hitch William up on my hip and walk out and to the parking lot where more times than not I'd crumple.
Why I would think am I doing this? I am a stay at home mom; he can just stay with me. I'm going to permanently scar him. Sometimes it took every ounce of strength I had not to walk back into the school, sweep him in my arms and take him home. Sometimes it took every ounce of strength my friends had to keep me from walking back into the school (thank you Gillian, Lucy, and Leslie), and sometimes I would sit in the car and cry until the school called my cell phone and said, "he's fine." (that usually was within five minutes). This went on for three years, three very long years. I knew he was fine for many reasons, but one major one was that when Chris took him, this never happened. I knew he would be fine, and yet, my heart broke every morning. I hated hearing him cry; I hated knowing he was hurt or scared if only for a moment, but I did believe this was part of my job. Part of my job was to teach him to be independent, teach him to rely on himself, teach him that I love him, that I will always love him whether he can see me or not. And I suppose in a way, I was teaching him he was his own person--a person created in the image of God, by God and for his own purpose. And so I left him each morning with my final words, "I love you, I'll be back."
Fast forward 13 years--it has not been an easy start to high school for my sweet boy. Much of it he has brought on himself. I understand that. He's made some dumb choices--not life altering, but nonetheless, he's had to learn some hard life lessons about manning up and admitting his mistakes, life lessons about who he can trust, life lessons about what it means to be a friend, and life lessons about consequences that come from dumb choices. And for another year, my heart breaks almost every day. I hurt when he makes bad decisions both for him and for others. I wonder how I can make things better, easier, less challenging? I worry I haven't done enough, been enough. I worry that going to work is causing this, and I worry that I suffocated and sheltered him for too long. When I know he is hurt, when I know he is extremely sorry for his actions and/or words, I want nothing more than to take that cup from him. I want to stand in his place when he is talking to the Dean of Students and the Headmaster. I want to tell them about the little boy who got in his first fight at school in second grade because he saw someone right a racial slur on the bathroom wall. And I want to tell them about the boy who went to the principal in fifth grade because a new boy who couldn't speak English was being picked on by all Christopher's friends. I want to tell them about the boy who held and patted my hand for 3 hours during Caroline's surgery to amputate her pinky. I want them to know about his deep heart for justice and his love of all people. But instead, I have to let him stand on his own two feet. I have to let him learn that how he behaves defines him, and that he and only he can change people's opinions of him. And I have to let him grow into the man God created him to be, independent of me. And every morning my heart worries because I want life to be perfect for him. He's not screaming blood curdling screams in his classroom--but just like then, I have no control. I cannot always make life easier for him, and it breaks my heart.
This morning I drove him to school at 7:30 for his spring lacrosse trip. We didn't talk much. We had already talked about making good choices; we had already talked about this being a chance to completely start over, to show people who he truly was. One thing I have learned is that too many words are just, well too many words. But I have to admit, my heart was breaking. I have never been apart from him on Easter. As we were driving I pictured all those Easter mornings; I pictured him in his smocked john-johns, his sweater vests, his pastel polos, and lately his vinyard vine ties (thankyou Aunt Meredith). And I thought how I wouldn't see him in church and he wouldn't be at Easter dinner, or at the beach next week, and my heart truly was breaking. We drove up to school, he didn't hold my hand gripping constantly tighter. No, he started pointing out who was there, wondering who he was going to room with, and telling me to just pull over he'd get out and I could leave. I parked the car and he got out. He went to the back, got his lacrosse bag, closed the trunk and started to walk away. But he turned came back to the car, leaned in, kissed my cheek and said, "I love you."
It's already been a long day. I'm trying desperately not to suffocate him with texts--not to continually check in and remind him to behave. It hurts to have him gone; as all my children are growing up, I am beginning to understand what people mean when they talk about a physical ache for your children. Today during stations of the cross, the words referring to Mary "a sword of grief pierced her soul" resonated deeply with me. Jesus was on his way to be crucified; he was on his way to living into his full glory; to fulfill his work on earth, the work God sent him to do. And Mary had to stand by and let this man, this boy, this child she birthed, nurtured and loved become the man he was created to be. May God give me the strength and wisdom to remember my children are God's children, and may God give me the strength to love them enough to let them go and become all that they were created to be.
29 March 2013
Even I Couldn't Believe this Conversation
Two weeks ago, Sarah Katherine called to see if Kirby (aka "the boyfriend") could eat dinner with us. I could think of no reason why not--the Chris' were going to be really late, but the babies, SK, Kirby and I sat down to eat. We returned to the dinner conversation of the previous night..
In the 8th grade at Collegiate they divide the girls and boys and teach sex education. Since we'd already talked about it the night before, I felt prepared. Mistake number one. Tonight, William decides to share with us that the man teaching the class was willing to answer any and all questions. I respond, "that's good. People should be able to ask questions and get honest, accurate information. What sort of questions were they asking?" That question was mistake number two. It started easily enough, Can you get pregnant the first time you have sex? (Good to know they answered yes you can). We were then interrupted by Caroline who had information to add.
"Did ya'll know they have flavored and colored condoms?" Silence in the room--Caroline, "Well, did you?" All I could think was do not make eye contact to the boyfriend who is sitting directly on my right. I gathered my wits and as calmly as I could said, "Yes we do know that. How do you?" Caroline, "Well, the 8th grade girls told me. Plus I've seen them." Looooong sip on the wine glass--me, "Caroline, how have you seen them?" Caroline, "They sell them in the women's bathroom at Thornton's. Why would they do that?"
Mistake number three--I believed I could now turn this conversation back to a semi-educational one (as long as I continued not to make eye contact with the boyfriend). "Caroline, it's important that girls be as prepared as boys. Girls have to protect themselves and not put all her trust in a boy." I was going to move on, but she was clearly not listening and was firing questions at me, "What about female condoms? Do you have to use them with boy condoms?" I tried to answer her questions thinking it would end the conversation. That was mistake number 4.
Caroline turns to William and asks, "What other questions did they ask?" I think to myself, at least we've moved away from her questions--mistake number 5. "Well," says William, "they asked what kerblumpkin meant." Caroline bursts out laughing-- I ask William, "what does it mean?" That was mistake number 6. He starts laughing at the fact that I don't know. So, I finally turn to SK and the boyfriend and ask them. Now the boyfriend is clearly trying not to make eye contact; both are bright red, and SK says, "please Mama don't make me answer that." With all my wisdom and maturity I decide to drop it. William continues to say words that they asked about all of which I didn't know (if you'd like to know, check urban dictionary). At this point, the Chris' walk in and I begin to talk to them only half listening to the other conversation. That is until I hear William say, "And they asked them to describe 69" Without thinking I turn back to the table and loudly say, "Well I even know what that is!" You couldn't hear a pin drop.
SK, "May we please be excused?"
(and the boyfriend came back to dinner the next night--)
In the 8th grade at Collegiate they divide the girls and boys and teach sex education. Since we'd already talked about it the night before, I felt prepared. Mistake number one. Tonight, William decides to share with us that the man teaching the class was willing to answer any and all questions. I respond, "that's good. People should be able to ask questions and get honest, accurate information. What sort of questions were they asking?" That question was mistake number two. It started easily enough, Can you get pregnant the first time you have sex? (Good to know they answered yes you can). We were then interrupted by Caroline who had information to add.
"Did ya'll know they have flavored and colored condoms?" Silence in the room--Caroline, "Well, did you?" All I could think was do not make eye contact to the boyfriend who is sitting directly on my right. I gathered my wits and as calmly as I could said, "Yes we do know that. How do you?" Caroline, "Well, the 8th grade girls told me. Plus I've seen them." Looooong sip on the wine glass--me, "Caroline, how have you seen them?" Caroline, "They sell them in the women's bathroom at Thornton's. Why would they do that?"
Mistake number three--I believed I could now turn this conversation back to a semi-educational one (as long as I continued not to make eye contact with the boyfriend). "Caroline, it's important that girls be as prepared as boys. Girls have to protect themselves and not put all her trust in a boy." I was going to move on, but she was clearly not listening and was firing questions at me, "What about female condoms? Do you have to use them with boy condoms?" I tried to answer her questions thinking it would end the conversation. That was mistake number 4.
Caroline turns to William and asks, "What other questions did they ask?" I think to myself, at least we've moved away from her questions--mistake number 5. "Well," says William, "they asked what kerblumpkin meant." Caroline bursts out laughing-- I ask William, "what does it mean?" That was mistake number 6. He starts laughing at the fact that I don't know. So, I finally turn to SK and the boyfriend and ask them. Now the boyfriend is clearly trying not to make eye contact; both are bright red, and SK says, "please Mama don't make me answer that." With all my wisdom and maturity I decide to drop it. William continues to say words that they asked about all of which I didn't know (if you'd like to know, check urban dictionary). At this point, the Chris' walk in and I begin to talk to them only half listening to the other conversation. That is until I hear William say, "And they asked them to describe 69" Without thinking I turn back to the table and loudly say, "Well I even know what that is!" You couldn't hear a pin drop.
SK, "May we please be excused?"
(and the boyfriend came back to dinner the next night--)
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