|
My Profile
Gift from Hil Part 2 - 2014-12-30
|
10:12 a.m. - 2002-07-02
And so wearing his new Hawaiian shirt and a name tag, Wolf walked into the halls of academe` this morning. He�s there right now with a bunch of Ethans and Nathans and a very pregnant teacher named Colleen having a blast. The classroom (what I could see with my teary eyes) looked awesome. A ton of toys and art supplies, wee tables and chairs, labeled cubbies, and big sunny windows. He happily tootled off to explore, leaving me with a casual �Bye Mom!� that was both relieving and a wee bit hurtful. The separation anxiety was all on my part. And for the life of me I don�t know what it was for. No, that�s wrong. I DO know. I can get along just fine without my boy for the whopping two and a half hours on Tuesday and Thursday mornings. Hell, I�ve been gleefully plotting how best to utilize my freedom. The idea that I have nearly 5 uninterrupted hours a week to write is such a delight that I�ve been giggling with anticipatory eagerness for weeks now. Nor was it fear that he�d come to harm if I wasn�t there. The place is well run and chock-a-block with helpers and monitors. Not even a worry that he�ll come home with a batch of new germs. Been there, done that with Alex, and for the past 12 years have done my time with the colds, pink eye, and the various other communicable crud a child brings home from school. No, my fear is judgment. Condemnation. A gnawing worry that my child and I (the molder of the childish clay) will be found wanting. Will they see that his scattered attention isn�t his fault? Or mine? Will his quirks and frantic energy been seen as willful misbehavior? Will the friendly and smiling Colleen of this morning meet me at the door with a sour face and harsh things to say about my �bad� boy? Will the director call me into her office to coldly tell me that my son is a brat and I must be one lousy mother to have failed him so miserably? The battles, the tears, the tantrums, the sucker punches of hurt from my boy�s indifference to both affection and discipline, the exhaustion of dealing with a child who pushes and pushes and pushes- his needs and obsessions paramount and that no persuasion can stop him for long, that this weary work of the past 5 years will have been for naught and he will be sent home rejected. Unfit, unreachable, unworthy. And that I the mother fucked up big time. THAT is what caused the parking lot storm of tears. My bright, beautiful, and oh so difficult boy is in the world now. A world outside the womb of this house surrounded by those who know and love him best. A world with expectations he may not be able to meet. A world which may turn a cold hard face to him and tell him to be gone if he cannot or will not conform. My boy is out there and I am afraid. �She could not laugh at his whimsicalities, she was so tensely counting...�- Dorothy Parker LA�s Pick of the Day: �Tossin� and Turnin�� by Bobby Lewis
|
