scribblechic

I sometimes wish I could gift you the experience of visiting our past, allowing you to shadow old experiences which have created challenges that accompany us into new relationships. I would show you the five-year old version of my son, teary eyed and determined, his hand beneath my own as we shaped each letter together during endless hours of homework. Conscious of his ability, I willed him to perform a volume of work that weighted his backpack with repetitious exercises in busy work and suffocated his evenings from learning.

I was determined then to prove to my son and his teachers that he was different, but not less than; capable rather than exceptional. In years to come I would look back on these elementary school evenings with remorse, seeing the slow diminishment of joy in the absence of a more natural exploration of his environment. The little boy who raced towards school room doors began retreating into independent interests for the satisfaction of learning. Books and ideas littered his silence, replacing questions. Where he once admired teachers for their wisdom he began to resent the restraints of rote exercises in recycled knowledge.

Notebooks and loose leaf pages riddled with ideas and images replaced listening. Restlessness for concepts long mastered between pages of science themed periodicals and volumes of reference books challenged the value of classroom tasks. The school day became a place of frustration and disconnect; unengaged with school work he was equally misplaced among peers. Here I failed as well.

Empty refrains of they don’t understand, be patient, things will get easier fell on deaf ears as my promises failed to come to fruition. Rarely did children understand. Instead I worked with therapists to prepare my son to learn the language of his peers’ behaviors, determined to nurture relationships that were unbalanced by ignorance. We learned to hold tightly to those we could trust and to guard ourselves against unkindness.

This little boy is no longer so little, but he carries the sadness and frustration of old disappointments among curiosity and hope into each new school day. Beneath his resistance to try is an eagerness to be inspired, his fear of unkindness lies just beneath his wish for friendship. He is waiting for reassurance that the space of his school day is safe to set aside his shield of disinterest and distraction. His loyalty and passion are promises based on trust, first earned but forever true. The young man before you, capable and exceptional, in spirit and in mind.

Tagged: Musings, Son