One Small Step

“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.