Dear Son:
I’m not sure you’ll ever read this…but you might. Maybe
someday, you’ll realize that your mama talked
about you online, and you’ll decide to root through the archives to find
out what I said…and I hope you do. Because in spite of the mistakes that I
have/I will made/make, I think the biggest thing you will glean from these
archives is that I love you with my entire heart and soul, and that my hope for
you is nothing less than a personal relationship with Jesus…and that I am
endlessly grateful to Him for you, your sister, and your Daddy…But, I digress:
Son, I want you to know that in spite of your best efforts,
You Are Not A Dinosaur.
I know, I know—To be a T-Rex, in all of his roaring,
short-armed glory, would be a wonderful, exciting thing. You get to be the
biggest thing on the playground! You get to be the center of attention! You get
to command the room, to be the most frightening, coolest, awesomest thing
around!!!
Buuuuuut, you’re not a T-Rex.
You’re a you.
And while you’re pretty much the center of my world, to
everyone else you’re another person in the room…and in some situations, your
roaring and stomping about is kinda scary/annoying/weird (although I think it’s
adorable).
Over the weekend, I had the chance to watch you in a
different social circle. You were the only boy in your age group; the only boys
in the room were older, and they were related. You haven’t learned about “cousins”
yet, because we don’t live near our families. We don’t come from what’s called
a tight-knit family, and although we’ve been fine with that up until now, I’m
beginning to wonder if that should somehow change (I have no idea how, being as
you are considerably younger than most of your cousins on either side, and/or
we live too far away). I watched you play with the little girls that were close
to your age, until they decided to run off like little girls do, and play
amongst themselves. Then I watched you try to break into the group of
boys/cousins that were older than you…You went up to them; they carried along
with what they were doing. You tried to be a dinosaur and to chase them (it
worked on the little girls), but they paid you no mind. You went over to them
and roared louder; they still paid you no mind, and one of them actually kicked
you.
You weren’t hurt (physically), and he was duly reprimanded;
you continued playing like nothing had happened, and I kept my distance, following
you around the room in case you decided to jump off of something/attempt to
injure yourself.
I realized something in that moment.
I realized that you were echoing what was in my heart…I had
wanted to talk to a group of women that were my age, but they formed a tight
circle, and I continued to be on my own. If I could have roared like a dinosaur
(something that, in my head, translates to, “Hi! Will you be my friend? I don’t
know anyone around here very well, and I’m a tad lonely, being as my husband
seems to know/like/be liked by everybody, and I feel like a total freak show,
so could you just talk to me so this cafeteria doesn’t give me a high-school
flashback?!?”), I might have…It is EXHAUSTING, to be in a group of people that
you’ve known for several years but don’t really know, and to smile and act like
that’s all okay, when what you really want to do is just leave and never come
back, because it all feels like a complete waste of TIME.
In my heart, I was roaring.
In my heart, I felt totally rejected…and when I saw you
trying to get the attention of the boys by roaring like a dinosaur, it broke my
heart. You’d roar, and your bright eyes would dart back and forth between their
faces, looking to see if they’d heard you….looking to see if they would accept
you into their circle, and to see if they would play with you.
Sure, you were fine (it seemed), but I was not. Feeling
rejected for myself is one thing, but seeing it happen to you? I’m not cool
with that.
I realize that you’re 3. You’re not drawing the same things
from perceived social rejection like I am at 38. You’re not looking at things
through a lifetime of being a perceived extrovert (when you’re actually totally
NOT). You’re 3. You have a lifetime of rejection ahead of you, because you’re a
human being, and that’s what we do to each other, regardless of whether or not
we’ve slapped a “Christian” label on our shirts. You will spend your lifetime
making friends, losing friends, being made fun of, making fun of people, and
learning the ropes of relationships. I can’t learn these things for you,
especially since I haven’t learned them well enough yet myself.
I wanted to pick you up and carry you out of that cafeteria.
I wanted to hold you, to tell you that it’s okay—you don’t need to be friends
with those boys, anyways; you’ve got ME. And later on in the day, I called my
own Mama, and told her about my own perceived rejection, because even when I
don’t have or can’t make friends, I have MY MAMA.
Oh, son…You are so bright and shiny, and the world is so new
to you. I know that learning the ropes of social situations will be a process
for you, and I’m certain it will be an intense process for me to observe. I
have to wonder if I will ever stop wanting to collect you and hold you, and
carry you out of the room when your attempts to make friends go south. I think of all of the times my mom had to
rescue me from the cliques and the bullies and the peer pressure I faced even
in my Christian school, and I wonder how different/same it will be for you as a
boy…I think of the times my mother didn’t intervene, and let me learn my lesson
(or when I didn’t tell her what I was dealing with, because I figured she had
enough to handle). I think of the
unsolicited advice my mother probably got (granted, with all of the sancti-mommies
online, I think unsolicited advice is a greater issue today than it was in the
80’s), and/or the comments other parents made at her methods of parenting (“You’re
not letting her drive when she’s 16?!?
What’s wrong with YOU?!?”).
(Sidebar: Unsolicited
parenting advice is yet another form of mom-shaming. You don’t like that my son
sits in his stroller while we eat dinner in an establishment that doesn’t have
a high chair, instead of running around like a hellion? KEEP IT TO YOURSELF. I
can see that you don’t agree with my methods; I really don’t care. Thank you,
but no thanks.)
I’m going to do my best for you. I’m going to try to watch
you learn your lessons; I’m going to try to take the necessary steps back, to
let you jump when you need to…but I will be close enough to catch you if I have
to. People may tell you I’m hovering.
They might even be so stupid as to tell you that I’m so close because I’m
afraid to lose you, because your sister passed away (if anyone EVER says that
to you, let me know, because I will handle them. Harshly.).
Son, I love you more than words. I will be here when no one
is impressed with your dinosaur impression, and you can roar all you like. I
might even roar with you.
I will not tell you that you are the smartest, the cutest,
the best in the world. I will tell you that you are the smartest, the cutest,
and the best in MY world. The World will show you that you are simply YOU…that
you are not a dinosaur, no matter how much you want to be. You are just another
little boy, growing up and figuring life out with millions of other little
girls and little boys, who have mommies and daddies who have different rules,
different goals, and different priorities.
I can’t make that any easier for you.
What I can do is to point you toward the Lord…I can love
your Daddy, and in this unstable world we can provide a stable home for you to
grow up in. We can love you, kiss your boo-boos, hug your little chest, and let
you cry when you need to. We will laugh and play with you, and you will
continue to be the center of our world; hopefully, you can carry that love and
stand on the foundation we will lay in your life. That foundation can carry you
through the rejection of friends, girls, whatever…you will always know you can
come home and be the biggest dinosaur in the room. And you’ll always know that
if you need us to pick you up and carry you out of a situation, we will…We will
discipline you as needed, we will make mistakes, we will forgive and ask for
forgiveness, and we will all grow in this process…
Our family is just….well, we’re a bit different, and you’ll
figure that out. In our social circles, lots of mommies don’t go to work; lots
of kids go to school at home; and lots of families have lots of kids. We don’t
do/have any of those things, for multiple reasons that I constantly
second-guess. There are things you won’t get to be a part of, but there are
really cool things that you WILL get to be a part of, and we will do our best
to keep you as involved as possible. Your family is really unique, and you’ll
learn to appreciate what makes us special, and what makes us perfect for you. You’ll
also learn that your family is fierce, incredibly loyal, independent,
co-dependent, colorful, hilarious, messed-up, and awesome on every side…just
like a lot of families. We’re all going to be here for you, and we can all
roar, together.
Life is all about learning. We never stop, whether we’re 3
or 93. Just like this weekend, there will be so many times that I will look at
you and learn about myself (good and bad), just as much as I try to teach you
by my own example (also good and bad).
We all have times where we feel overlooked and uninvited, and we all
have a dinosaur in our hearts that just wants to be acknowledged and loved…We
all want to belong.
My little guy…my brave boy…how I love you, and how I wish I
could learn it all for you, to keep you safe and unharmed. I wish I could take
all of your hurts for you (and therein lies an entire volume dedicated to the
grace of Christ), and make life as easy as possible. I wish I could make all of
your friends for you, and filter out those I don’t want you to know…in my
Type-A mindset, I wish I could make all of your plans and run your life to be
as bump-free and methodical as possible. We all know that’s completely
impossible and unhealthy. You have to grow, learn, discern, process, evolve,
and eventually, break out on your own, away from our carefully-cultivated nest
and out from under my ever-vigilant watch.
I’m absolutely terrified/exhilarated/petrified of that day…
But it’s coming…
And every day is one day closer.
You are going to be so amazing…I can’t wait to see what God
has planned for your life. These things, these worries I have, and this journey
you’re on, are so far beyond you right now…you have so much to learn and to
grow into. Take your time. Go slow. Be free to be loud/annoying/weird to the
world.
When you’re grown, you’ll learn that you are not a dinosaur…
But for now…
Roar as loud as you want.
No comments:
Post a Comment