Today was the first day of school here. My Facebook feed is flooded with pictures of happy kids and teens, often holding up signs saying things like “My First Day of Kindergarten!” In most of these everyone is smiling, except the teens who have the “WHY do I still have to do this?” look on their faces. They’re in living rooms, on porches, at bus stops, getting on buses. Proud parents sharing their joy: “He’s gotten SO big!” “_____ couldn’t wait to get back!” and so on.
Sigh.
My day started with a teenager so anxious he was nearly feral. Every step happening with prodding, cajoling, negotiating. Forget the bus, in the car. Hysterical sobbing mixed with claims of “I am done” and “I feel empty inside.” Confessions of imagined crimes proving he’s a Very Terrible Person. There is no hope for him, nothing helps, he declares. Railing against the failure of a parent he believes simply does not care about him, nothing he could do would matter, why, Mom? Clenched fists controlling the anger that is fear’s bodyguard. Afraid he will lose control and hit someone, getting him expelled from a school he loves and claims to hate.
No cute first day pictures here.
In the end, we got to the parking lot. Stayed a while. Talked with a teacher. Heard that he was not the only one – only about half the kids even made it in, and it was a half day. His school teaches only kids like him – bright, creative, talented and devastatingly anxious, depressed, afflicted. They understand. We go again tomorrow, in stages, this time maybe into the building. They are good at this, and it’s not my first time at this rodeo either. By next week he’ll be on the bus, I know this even as I fear it won’t happen.
This is not how I imagined it would be.
I remember, when he was a tiny person, wondering what the world would do to him. Very early in life he was unusually compassionate, kind, happy. When he was about four I remember him finding a perfect crab shell on the beach. He was delighted. His friend Jacob was envious, angry. Why couldn’t HE find a shell like that? It’s not fair! Tearful, angry face, stomping feet. We adults were doing our usual – this happens, sometimes you don’t get what you want, calm down. Ryan, seeing his friend so upset, walks over to him, hands him the treasured shell and pats him on the shoulder solemnly. He walks away. Tears evaporate, Jacob is thrilled to have the shell. Five minutes later the novelty has worn off. He crushes that perfect, delicate shell and tosses it aside. Ryan, distressed, comes for a hug. This is all I can offer. I cannot bring the shell back, and the gift, once given, is treated as the recipient chooses. Over and over again things like this happen.
I suppose this is called building ‘resilience’, the world hardening his shell for him, and I understand it’s necessary. What isn’t often seen are the bruises inside. The wounds where the shell isn’t hard enough. The sadness and fear and anger about what another barrage will mean. He sees it coming, dreads it. Throws up all his defenses. Struggles. Sometimes pushes all the way through, sometimes retreats and regroups, preparing for another go.
For me, when the challenge comes, I pray that once, just once, it will bounce off him. That he will have mastered his world and will challenge it, instead of it challenging him. Sometimes I indulge in wishful thinking – this time there won’t be an assault, there won’t be defenses, this will be no-big-deal and he will be fine. Then, feeling the hope evaporate as the battle begins, fighting my own fear and anger and despair. Being strong, because strong is the only choice.
It’s like watching that shell getting crushed and discarded over and over, taking something fragile, beautiful and perfect and shattering it. Then, picking up the pieces and assembling them into a whole again, still beautiful, if not as perfect as when it was new, reinforced so it’s not quite so delicate. Cracked in places, healed in others, tiny pieces lost forever. Putting Humpty Dumpty back together so that he can once more go slay the dragon that is his world.
View From Table 9 