You can keep your damn jack

Ian got upset yesterday when he accidentally was hit in the face with a soccer ball and someone laughed. Ian wanted the coach to make that kid not laugh. 

I reminded him that there is an entire genre of comedy based on people getting hit in the face. And while it may have been upsetting for Ian, another person can't help but laugh just a little. Also, laughter is a nervous response. He's done it himself when I'm monologuing at him about flushing the toilet and say the word poop with such fury. 

Daddy tells a story: A man was driving along a country road very late one night when he got a flat tire. Opening the trunk, he realized he had no tire jack! Far in the distance was a porch light.

The walk was a long one. As he trudged along, the man began to imagine waking a farmer up from his sleep and finding him unfriendly about the intrusion. Other thoughts came to him. What if the farmer had a gun? What if he sicked a big dog on him? What if the farmer robbed him when he realized he was alone?

After almost an hour of stumbling, getting caught in sticker bushes, and losing a shoe in a mudhole, he could finally see the front steps.

The man was so upset about the whole situation. He just knew the farmer was going to have a fit about a stranger at his door! It's not like the man could help this predicament. How could someone treat a fellow in need that way?!

The man knocked on the door. A light came on. The man was wracked with worry, stress, fatigue. Surely, this farmer would be furious with him. 

Footsteps. The door cracked and a voice said, ”Can I help you?”

The stranded man, red-faced and raging shouted, ”You can keep your damn jack!” and stormed away.

Bold and self-soothing all in one

Right now Ian is that stranded man. He's sensitive, in a vulnerable position, feels alone, and spends a lot of energy scripting how things can go wrong. 

My job is to help him calibrate. And to remind him that like Rich would say, "Everyone is the hero of their own story." There are 40 kids at soccer camp. Most of them are kind to him. And every single one of those kids has a life they're struggling with and navigating the best they can. Some of them don't have the emotional or supportive resources he does.

Stand your ground. Be kind. Try not to yell at farmers. 

Tugging on Superman's cape

Summer is supposed to be easy. Carefree. No schedule, no tests, no worries. But let me tell you there is a lot of worry going on around here.

Ian never wants me out of his sight. I can normally grocery shop without him, but now he’s right there in the produce aisle with me lest he is sobbing at home that something made a sound and I’m not there. I told him the other day I was going to mow the lawn. He looked up from Fortnite and quivered, “You’re not … leaving, are you???” Dude. By definition, I will be on our property. You can hear the mower and see me out any window in the house. 

As I was three quarters done with the lawn, he came racing out the back door. He looked pained and he had his fingers in his ears from the noise. I stopped the mower, killed the engine, paused my music, took out my headphones. 

“Are you ok, Stink? What’s up?” 
“Are you done yet?” 

I just blinked at him. My child is in the gifted and talented program, I swear to you. And he just asked me if the lawn that I’m clearly in the middle of and has sections which are demonstrably taller than others was done. 

So yeah, he’s been like a very large barnacle. If he had his way, I would wear him around in a backpack like Master Blaster. 

My kid is a lover, not a fighter.

Adding to that mix, he’s been sorta argumentative with me. He tried to tell me this weekend that “pumptism” is an actual disease. I said, “I highly doubt that.” He countered, “Yes, it is! Look it up!” 

You know what, you little asshole, I will. And so I looked it up and read the definition to him that it was a term MADE UP by a YOU-TUBER. And so maybe he should shut his trap about internet diseases, Dr. Short Stuff.

We were driving home from a movie last night and he asked me about the order of homes the orphans went to in “A Series of Unfortunate Events.” I told him I wasn’t sure. He said he knew they went to X and Y but he wasn’t sure in which order. I conjectured that it was Y and then X but I wasn’t sure. “No! That’s not right!” 

“You know what? Why are you even dragging me into this discussion? I was happy over here just singing along to Hamilton songs. But you asked me a question just to tell me I’m wrong. And I’m super sick of having you tell me I’m wrong all damn day. I broke up with the last person who spent all his time telling me I was wrong.”

We had a tense ride home and a quiet dinner. I didn’t want anything to do with the little jerk. 

I remember Rich telling me that people have to be right when they have low self-esteem. I tried to think of what would make Ian feel insecure. And then I remembered the kid at camp. Cameron is literally half the size of Ian but has been harassing him and even hitting him during camp. It’s hard being a giant child. Ian could snap this kid in half, but he doesn’t. And if he even defends himself, it just spins up this little guy, so he goes all howler monkey on him. And Ian didn’t feel like he could get away from him at camp. 

After two weeks of this little asshole, Ian needed to feel like he had some control over things. Some power. Some security. And that manifests itself in being right about stupid stuff. 

We went upstairs and he was super apologetic about his attitude. I told him I think I knew what was wrong. We talked about how bullies tend to be that way because something isn’t going well for them in their own lives. And they project it on other people. And that maybe he was mean to me because he couldn’t get away from the people being mean to him. He nodded his head and started sobbing. 

So we made a plan. He would tell the counselors very specifically that he didn’t feel safe and he was being bullied. And if they did nothing, he would use his phone and call me. We talked about how if someone tries to insult you but you treat it as a compliment it usually confuses them and frustrates them. 

“You’re fat. You look like a girl.”
“Thanks! I get to wear my hair however I want and I eat lots of really healthy food. I’m really tall and strong and I’m going to be really tall and strong as a teenager and adult too.”

We talked about how bullies need to be fed like a flame. If you can starve the flame of air, it will usually fizzle. It takes practice to do it. And I told him if he ever hits a kid in self-defense, I will never be upset with him and I will support him to the ends of the Earth. 

We did camp drop off this morning. I talked to the Coach. He knew about Cameron and said they had separated them as much as they could last week. And Cameron isn’t at camp this week. I told him about the other two possible kids that may pick on him and Coach said he would keep an eye out. And that he would talk to Ian about it. And he would make sure Ian felt safe. He thanked me for bringing it up.

I reminded Coach that one of my favorite things about Norfolk Academy was that as a sensitive kid I felt safe and heard by the adults. It was exactly what I needed growing up. And I need my kid to feel safe at NA summer camp if he’s ever going to attend NA school in the future.

We took Ian out of the afternoon swim lessons too. It was exhausting him and he was a hot mess when I picked him up. He wants to go to the library in the afternoons. Fine by me, dude. 

It’s been an emotional week. Irritation, smothering, whining, arguing, crying, feeling hopeless, making a plan, feeling heard, having some hope. 

I hate bullies. I want to smash their faces in with a brick. And I also want to scoop them up and find out who hurt them to make them so mean. Then maybe smash that person with a brick. It’s a long road to get to Bully Zero that started it all. Probably Cain getting shitty with Abel. 

Shitty people exist at all ages. Living well is the best revenge. 

Ice skating in July

Father's Day on our terms

Ian says that he gets one less holiday than everyone else now that Daddy is dead. We didn't celebrate Father's Day. I didn't even tell him it was happening today. It's not like he's on Facebook to hear about it. 

We went to Water Country USA. Ian has been a bit anxious the last few weeks, having trouble sleeping and easily spooked. I wondered how he would fare with some of the rides. 

That little stinker wanted to ride everything. Even things that seemed like a horrible idea to ride! And I found myself going along with it as the parent. 

I'm not a water play sort of person. I like to float in the water. I like to putter around in the water. I don't like to be dunked. I don't like to be splashed. I'm not much better than a house cat in that regard. And yet, there we were at a water park all day.

I'm also pale and freckled. After today, I'm about 200% more freckled. I must remain vigilant against the rays of the sun all day. I reapplied sunscreen every hour and a half and I'm still a little pink. 

I left my phone in our locker, deciding to focus on us and the activities. It was nice. It also meant that I didn't get any photos of us doing our thing. They did have a photo kiosk, though, that had a couple of pictures of us exiting one of the rides. It pretty much sums up my feelings about most water rides. 

That face, tho

There is a ride there called Vanishing Point. It is a vertical drop with no raft or mat. Ian really really really wanted to go on it. I agreed to follow him up the stairs and see him off. When we got to the launch platform another girl his age was about to ride. Her mom was with her and was equally unenthusiastic about the ride. We decided to send the kids down together. 

I was all for this plan. But once they reached the bottom, the other mom turned to me and said, "You know what? Let's do this, Mommy. Let's mom the heck out of this. We got this." How could I abandon her when she said that? 

And so I held my shoes, Ian's shoes, my sunglasses, and my watch in my fists like I was Steve Martin in "The Jerk". And I went down this ridiculous ride. Water went up my nose. Water went up my ass. I was dragging my insulin pump alongside me the last 10 feet. I exited the ride like Bill the Cat, grateful my suit was in approximately the same location it was 20 seconds prior. 

And that is what parenting is about. Doing shit you don't really want to do because it makes your kid a better person. Ian was brave and happy all day. We had Dippin' Dots. We got our photos. We made it home with little traffic. We picked up new swimsuits for Ian. We are ready for summer camp to start Monday. 

Happy Father's Day to everyone doing their part to make kids better people, regardless of your gender.