“Mom, wait.” Jake pleads from the backseat just as I’m ready
to step out of the car.
Since we are always in a hurry, no matter where we go, I am
instantly annoyed.
“Why, Jake?”
He then holds up his hand and, between his thumb and index
finger, produces a shiny white pearl; his tooth.
“This was bothering me,” he explains.
So we find him a tissue to bite to stop his now bleeding gum
where his molar once lived.
And while waiting for that to stop bleeding, he says, “Wait
one more minute.”
“There you go, “ he says, grinning at my dismay, hand
outstretched, with the culprit in his palm.
Just that fast he yanks out another tooth leaving two gaping
holes in his mischievous smile.
With that, he is ready to go about the business of his
day. No drama, no fanfare, just
the get-it-done attitude we love so much about him.
Maybe it’s because he is the second child, but Jake has
always been quick to make decisions, and has little tolerance for those who
can’t. His desire to please is
only out paced by his desire to be the
first to please.
When it comes to big decisions that weigh heavily on some, like
Halloween costumes, new shoes or menu choices, he knows with a moment’s
consideration what he will wear, buy and eat.
But his confidence and swagger come from living in a world
of known commodities where he is capable and in charge.
This fall walking into the new world of middle school he
felt neither.
Accustomed to the man with the plan running the show, I was
surprised and caught off guard when the days leading up to middle school found
someone entirely different staring up into my eyes, battering me with endless
questions and potential scenarios of disaster in the unfamiliar halls he would
soon be walking.
“What if I get lost?”
“What if I forget my combination?”
“What if the older kids are mean?”
“What if I don’t have friends in my class?”
No matter how many times we explained, or consoled, or
visited the school he remained steadfastly mired in panic.
It finally dawned on me that his feelings were based not
just on fear of the new experience, but the realization that he may not have
anything to compare this feeling to in his memorable life. He was experiencing these feelings for
the first time, and was seeing the world through a fun house mirror, where
nothing appeared as it should.
I agonized with him on the inside, knowing full well that in
the end he would survive just fine, but feeling badly that no matter what I did
or said it wouldn’t really matter; this was his path to walk alone.
Finally the day arrived. He couldn’t choke down a bite of breakfast. He wished out loud he didn’t have to
go. And even dropping him off, he turned as he left to moan out loud one more
time.
Not since kindergarten had I felt this way driving away. The
day took an eternity to pass. I
thought of him constantly.
And finally it was time to pick him up.
“That was easy!” he declared steadfastly as he jumped in the
car, all worries evaporated like a day in the life of a middle school mom.
And just that fast his equilibrium was back; his clock was
back in sync. But I knew a little
part of him had stretched and grown, in just this one day, he was forever
changed, another stepping stone crossed, the same boy as before, but now, with even
more ammo in his arsenal to attack life fully armed as he always has, and with
luck always will.
