Track

I watched Nick at track practice the other day. I had to go early to pick him up for a doctor’s appointment (a psychiatrist appointment for more meds… sigh. A boy of 15 (12 when he started) has a shrink…sigh, sigh, sigh.). So, I got a chance to watch him at track. Now let me tell you that I have done this before, and will continue to watch him at track because I’m so proud of him for even participating in an extracurricular sports program while he is suffering from acute anxiety at school—hence, the need for meds—and for a second year of track, too.

Yay for Nick!!

So, what’s it like to watch him with the other kids—typical kids? Well, my feelings are a bit twofold, as one can only imagine… On one fold, I love watching him, and sometimes I get to see how he fits right in with the other kids... I mean, running is a solitary sport, right? Up until it’s not. Right? Now you must be thinking: what the heck is she talking about; what’s she sniffin’ over there in Plymouth??

Nick is not really a smiling kind of kid. He’s happy, but he doesn’t always show it on his face. So when he’s at track, one can’t tell what he’s thinking… I know he likes track, otherwise he wouldn’t want to go, and I certainly wouldn’t make him. So I have to believe that he is happy in track and enjoys himself—as he has told me that he does, the many times that I’ve asked. The other side of this fold, is that when I do watch him at track, I feel like I’m chewing on my heart, for reason I’m going to tell you now.

On this particular day, it was raining outside and practice was held in the gym, running and playing racing games, etc….

And I had to witness him play a group racing game (team game), and did.

How’d it go? Well I got that ache in the pit of my stomach that said: shit, fuck and damn, why do I have to be here. Why couldn’t I just fantasize that he is doing great in a group activity and smile obliviously and be happy.

Huh? Why? Why did I have to witness this…?

Kids were broken up in two teams: one team on one side of the gym, and the other on the opposite. They were competing with each other for the team that could run the fastest, while touching various lines. The team opposite Nick’s ran first: the clock stopped at 20 seconds…

When his team was next, I held my breath and watched: the time stopped at 25 seconds. And any clueless spectator would have been able to deduct that it would have been a much better time if Nick hadn’t slowed them down.

Shit, crap, damn…was that a moan I heard from a few of his teammates?? And were they all watching me because they knew who I was?

Now I am not picking on my son; I love him dearly—obviously—but he didn’t even seem to try. The buzzer sounded and the kids ran, and Nick was about 10 seconds behind them and he wasn’t working hard to catch up… even slowing at some points.

The heaviness I felt was not that he was slower than the other kids… even on the field, he is slow at the races, as if he thinks that racing is about going as fast as he wants to: like there’s no team spirit, no rules. I don’t care if he comes in last, but I do care if the other kids are wishing and hoping that he isn’t on their team.

Remember picking teams in high school? Someone was always picked last, and that meant that they didn’t want that person on their team.

And I can’t help to think that that’s my son, too.

It’s like chewing on your heart to watch…it really is.

First Day of School Excitement ... Or Not!

My son hates school. I know this because I had to give him a friendly forewarning that school starts tomorrow. Yikes, why is mom always the bad guy. I should have had Grandma or his father do it. If today was any indication then tomorrow will go like this: I will practically have to peel him out of his bed in the morning. And if that's not indication enough that he doesn’t want to go, then the foreseen moaning and temper tantrum little thing like making a fist in the dead air would ensue, preceding a comment like “ School Sucks! Oh, did I swear?” And then terrible regret that he swore. “It’s okay," I will say, "just this once.”

No, my boy is a summer kid. We live in Plymouth, MA (home of the Pilgrims) and summer is the thing we do here. Beaches, ponds, tourists, restaurants ... Oh, and by the way, and because you just might ask, Plymouth Rock is not a sight to see. It's just a rock, and a little one at that. Whenever relatives or friends come to visit and they see the “Rock” for the first time, well let’s just say their comments usually follow: “That’s it!?”

So go see Plimoth Plantation (No typo, it’s spelled this way in remembrance of the first Governor who couldn’t spell). It’s a place to visit and a day's worth of fun. At least you get to meet some of the people from 1620; visit their house; listen to what they do and eat all day; hear and see their life. And afterwards thank God/or Someone that we live in the 21-century!! What would they do with kids with special needs? I always think that when I visit a place that represents our history. I haven’t been to Plimoth Plantation since I was a kid, however, but I’d be curious to ask them that question: Where are all the little special needs pilgrims, just curious?

I, however, looked forward to the first day of school. I didn’t love school, but there was something about the first day that was exciting: New wardrobe, lunch box, shoes, even the first day smells were different. Cool and dark in the morning, like it’s a new world instead of just another summer’s day; with a pang of nervous excitement that nothing could cure, especially breakfast. Knowing that I would meet my new teachers, see some new and old friends (always had a new best friend every year, funny how that was).

Middle school was much the same as elementary; high school and all of its usual nightmares that came along with those teenage years: a cheerleader just to fit in with the "cool" kids; preppy clothes with alligators on the front of them; corduroys; duck shoes; ribbons in my hair (and that was high school); forcing on my fall clothes in the heat of (still) summer—so not looking forward to Nick’s first day of 9th grade next year. His doctor even recommends keeping him on his meds (for anxiety) up until the passing of next year, at least.

No, there’s nothing like the very first day of school … well at least for the kids, but for moms everywhere … “Yahoo!” instead of “School Sucks” might be echoed from sea to shining sea, if only in a whisper!!

So just hanging out on the day before school begins and I’m thinking that Nick doesn't smell that air of excitement. No, he’s moping and wondering, “When’s vacation?”


Here I've added first day of school stress reducers for all of those who might be going thought the same kind of day.