When I was in sixth grade, my dad got a new job and we moved from Illinois to Florida. But in Illinois, I’d been part of a split fifth-sixth grade class of about 20 and an upper classman at a school I’d attended for four years. In Florida, I was the new kid in a 15-kid three-way split class of fifth-, sixth-, and seventh-graders at a tiny private school.
We moved in February, which was great weather-wise, but meant that everyone at my new school was already pretty much matched up and paired off. I made friends with a seventh-grader who later accused the teacher of molesting her. It was rough fitting in. It was rougher when the class went on a three-day trip to Orlando and we all got divided into chaperoned groups of three. As the odd girl out, I wound up grouped with an incredibly timid and tearful boy named Evan, and a morbidly obese and perennially miserable girl named Elaine. Our chaperone was Evan’s mom, who was an absolutely lovely woman, and I remember thinking at the time that I couldn’t understand how such a cheerful and enthusiastic woman had a son who was afraid of his own shadow and yelped with pain if you so much as waved a chalkboard eraser at him. I also remember feeling incredibly relieved that we were with Evan’s mom and not Elaine’s, as I did not want to spend three days with whatever had made Elaine the way she was. Even at 11, I was a judgmental little brat.
I was thinking about this yesterday as I spent the day chaperoning a fifth-grade field trip to Luray Caverns. It was weird to watch the group dynamics and interpret them from an adult perspective and from what I remember of being a kid. There were the boys who hung on each other and roughhoused. There was the Young Prince, aimlessly wandering and occasionally hunkering down with one or another of his spindly, anxious-looking friends, talking about video games. There were the girls who played with each other’s hair and there were the girls who sat quietly and close together in intense conversation. (As an aside? Almost every single one of these fifth-graders had a smartphone. For a brief moment, I felt my "Not Til Middle School" resolve slipping, but then I realized that I'm endowing my kid with the ability to be smug and sanctimonious in future days; sort of the way I am when people find out my family didn't own a TV for eight of my formative years.)
Honestly, I was relieved to see that the YP actually has conversations with other kids. I’ve been worried about his social skills since forever, and I suspected it’s been harder for him this year because he’s got a better grip on who he is, but he’s also surrounded by kids who have watched him be nuts for six years. I figure you couple that with the fact that he’s got a couple of introvert parents who probably don’t do enough to demonstrate how to be social, and it’s cause for concern.
Thomas and I were grouped with two other boys from his class, one of whom was very calm and easygoing, and the other who seemed a bit more rambunctious and impatient. They were nice boys, and while it was obvious they don’t spend a lot of time fraternizing with the YP under regular circumstances, they were happy to coexist. They didn’t go out of their way to include him, but when he did join in they didn’t turn their backs and ostracize him, either. So that was nice.
When we got to the caverns, the boys immediately scattered. Rambunctious jogged ahead and back, sort of like a puppy keeping track of everyone. Easygoing paired off with his friend and they oohed and ahhed about the rocks, declaring it the best field trip ever.
As another aside, Luray Caverns is pretty damn awesome. I am ready to go back and spend longer down there, taking a lot more pictures.
The YP kept hanging back, and every time I checked on him, he was in earnest conversation with two girls who seemed amenable to his presence.
Then the tour guide warned everyone to stand still, and she turned out the lights in the cavern so they could get a sense of how dark it is when you’re in a 95-foot hole in the ground and the power goes out.
And when the lights came on, for a split second, I saw the YP clutching the paw of one of the girls. He dropped it immediately, and she acted as if nothing had happened whatsoever.
Oh, my.
On the way home, there was a wreck blocking the entire highway, so we sat at a dead stop on the bus for an hour and a half. Every time the bus moved two feet, the entire student body broke out cheering. (After the third instance of this, the YP snarked to me, “Yay! We’re moving! Look! We’re stopping again! Surprise!”) Needless to say, things got a little boisterous and loud. But the YP ignored them all and we played I Spy, and Name That Movie Character, and in between he admitted under cover of clamor that he rather fancies this girl, the feeling is not mutual, but they are good friends. The relatively straightforward and matter-of-fact relay of this information left me a little nonplused. So rational. So mature. So accepting and happy to get what he can. Who is this kid?
Right. He’s the YP, just like he has been all along. He’s my kid. You know, it’s funny, because I have talked to other mothers and many of them describe this ferocious feeling of ownership for their offspring. I always found that interesting, because I never really felt that. I never felt he was MINE, so much as he was MINE TO PRESERVE. I felt -- feel – ferociously protective, ferociously responsible, ferociously adoring. But mine has always been a sense of stewardship more than ownership. My job is to preserve, protect, shape and prepare – and cut loose. Yet somehow, knowing that is the case and feeling that way about him doesn’t make it the tiniest bit easier when I am utterly powerless to do that job as I see it. It breaks my heart to think of all the horrible emotional turmoil that’s out there waiting for him. I mean, I remember the devastation of unrequited love, of crash-and-burn relationships, of wondering WHY NOT MEEEEEE. I hate like fire that I will watch my kid go through that and be powerless to do anything about it. But what I saw yesterday gives me a little bit of hope that he might actually weather it better than I would have guessed; possibly (probably) better than I weathered such things myself.
Oh yeah, and he also kept up his grades since the interim report card and got all A’s on his first official report card of the year. That was pretty cool, too. And-and, the counselor he’s been seeing says she sees no reason for him to keep coming; he’s doing fine and doesn’t need her support. And-and-and, he’s entered a pretty good piece of writing in an essay contest. So, yeah. He’s just fine.
I, on the other hand, had a lousy week at work. One client unhappy with a design, one client unhappy with an edit. I’m hoping that if bad things really do happen in threes, then the third was someone unhappy with my availability because I took a comp day Friday. Fresh start Monday, I reckon.
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