Listening To An Invisible Child

I yelled at my 5 year old son to get dressed, as I brushed my teeth. Mornings are always like this; scream, scream, go, go, hug and kiss. I went into his room and looked at his outfit: a t-shirt, 2 camouflaged sweatshirts and camo pants. "It's supposed to be in the 70's, you don't need 2 sweatshirts, take all that off!" I added a "hurry up" for good measure, swallowed my anxiety meds and went to establish an ETE (estimated time to exit) on my daughter.

My son slithered down the stairs and I examined his outfit, he had traded in the camo sweatshirts for a camo fleece zip up. "Fine, but take it off if you get hot. WHY DON'T YOU HAVE SHOES ON YET?" He giggled, "I'm invisible." My daughter stood in front of him. "Camouflage doesn't make you invisible, it makes you blend into your surroundings," she corrected him. "Why is no one listening to me?" I screamed, clapping my hands like a drill sergeant "car, car, car...."

Once outside, my self-dressed child ran up to a tree and held very still. He smiled. "I'm invisible." My daughter mumbled, "blending." I stopped for a moment and looked at him. He did blend pretty well, so I took a picture. "Let's see what you look like in front of a tree with rougher bark." He ran from tree to tree and I snapped some shots. "Let me see them!" He gleefully asked, "can we show them to my teacher?" "Sure." I replied, losing interest, "get in the car, I'm late for work."

The entire ride to school he discussed camouflage. We pulled up and I got out to walk him to the front door. His little warm hand clung tightly to mine. "You have to come in and show my teacher the picture." I looked at him, "I'm late for work. Later. I'll come in when I pick you up."

"No, mom, now."

I looked at him and back at my daughter waiting in the car. "Honey, I have to go, you have a good day. My phone is in the car. I'll show her later." I hoped he would forget about this by then. He held my hand tight. "No." I looked around at the bigger kids mulling around in front of the school, was he scared to go in alone? "Fine." I told him. I went back to the car and grabbed my phone and walked into the school with him. We walked through the office. "Can I show her?" I asked. He told me she was not the one. In the hall a women said hi to him. She, too, was not the one.

We turned the corner and two teachers stood in a classroom talking. My son lit up, "there she is!" I was about to ask which teacher when one woman came walking toward us. She looked at my son and exclaimed, "WHERE IS HE? WHERE IS Z?" She looked around confused. "He is just a floating head?! What happened to Z?" My son stood as still as a rock and giggled. "I hear his laugh, but I can't see him!!" She grew closer and closer. Z unzipped his fleece, showing her his T-shirt beneath. "There you are!" She smiled, "you survived the meteor crash! Great camo Z!" I remembered I had pictures to show her and I fumbled for my phone, "I'll take a copy of that," she nodded at me.

"So, Z are we gonna go thrift shopping?" She asked him. He laughed and yelled "Hey Vacklemore, you wanna go thrift shopping? What? Wha wha wha what? (like the song Thift Shop)" The two of them started doing the robot. She threw back her head and laughed to the teacher next to her, "Oh, I just love him!"

I walked down the hallway and my eyes welled up with tears. All night he had planned that. This morning he woke up wanting to be in camo. I kept yelling at him to change his clothes. He spoke and I ignored. He spoke and his sister corrected. He needed to show her, because she saw him. Even when he was invisible. He had probably heard her exclaim, "I love THAT kid." Him. HE was listening. I rushed him through his day like I rush him through his life. "Why aren't you listening, Z?" Why wasn't I? He tried to tell me. And I told him to hurry up. But he stood his ground. He had to fight to wear his outfit and fight to get me into the school. He had to fight and repeat himself because I wasn't listening. I almost missed the moment. I almost never knew the impact this woman had on my son.

The moment our children are born we tune into their every noise. We lay awake at night listening for a peep. We learn their cries and know when they are hungry, bored or hurt. We listen intently as the learn to speak, "Did she say ball? Was that mama?" And excitedly we beg them to communicate with us. We implore them to use their words and say "bye bye." Then, just as they master the language we all speak, we, parents, stop paying attention. We shush them and rush them. By about age 9 or 10 they learn we do not listen so they stop communicating. By 11 or 12 we are lucky if they don't speak a whole new language. We wonder why our children don't listen, but never stop to teach them how. We talk at them as they interrupt our phone calls, dish-washing, TV watching and Facebook browsing. The years of childhood blend quickly into our timelines, like camouflage against a tree. We plan to sit with them, but after work, after dinner, after bathtime, in the morning, tomorrow, this weekend... hours become invisible and children become adults. We need to stop and pay attention. And not just when we get a chance or when it's convenient for us.  As my son said, clinging to my hand, "No. NOW."

Dear 16 Year Old Me

I posted the question on Facebook:

If you could speak to your 16 year old self, what would you say?

And I answered:

"You are exactly who you are supposed to be. Stay the course. Don't change a thing. Unless you decide to. Embrace possibility. You can't fuck it up if you hold hope in your hand. Never let go of the power of truth. You, my dear, rock."

I was a mess at 16 years old. It is the year I got pregnant by a guy who would become a heroin user. I had an abortion. I dropped out of school. I ran away and lived in the basement of a drug house, until the police found me and made me go home. To my mother's house where I hadn't lived in three years. I moved from my father's house where I had complete and utter freedom, a father who let me go so that his latest wife could move in. A father who gave up on me, for his own disgustingly selfish needs. I ran away again. I hated so much.

At 16, I made a lot of bad decisions.
And I HURT. Immensely.


I COULD tell 16 year old me to not get pregnant and not do drugs and not shave my head into a defiant mohawk in attempt to tell the world to fuck off. But, I imagine some adult, at some point, already told me that. I want to tell the young me that it doesn't matter. We ALL make mistakes, but they do not DEFINE us. Unless we let them.
 
Stay the course.

Perhaps it comes from a person who has swallowed a bottle of pills and prayed to not throw them up before they took effect. A girl who has sat inside a dry bathtub and ran razor blades across her tiny, white wrists.

Stay the course.
This will not define you.

I told my husband last night that I feel closer to the girl I was then, than I ever have. Not because of the life I am living, but because of who I am on the inside. I was passionate. I was determined. I based my actions on a compass magnetized by independent thinking rather than following the path of society's norms. I was curious. I was open. I was alive. And I am, again.

Surely, my independent thinking was brand new. Surely, I made a thousand mistakes. But I stayed the course. The end result was bliss. I am happy. And I am happy being uniquely ME.


What is a teenager?
A teenager is US, before.
A teenager is our children, in the future.

Teenagers are people, caught in a moment of time. A small moment. They are listening. And learning. They just don't want to become.... as dead inside as they see some adults. And they do not have to.

Remembering
You running soft through the night
You were bigger and brighter and wider than snow
And screamed at the make-believe
Screamed at the sky
And you finally found all your courage
To let it all go

Remembering
You fallen into my arms
Crying for the death of your heart
You were stone white
So delicate
Lost in the cold
You were always so lost in the dark

I've been looking so long at these pictures of you
That I almost believe that they're real
I've been living so long with my pictures of you.
~The Cure

 

Tie A Ribbon On Your Wrist

My son is not an easy child.

He does not want to play with the other kids. He doesn't want to go outside. He is chubby and serious. He doesn't like sports. He never stands still. His indoor voice can be heard indoors at the neighbor's house. People don't have much to say to him. Mainly this:

1. Did you hear what I said to you?!
2. Sit down!
3. Be quiet!

And then a lot of repeating patterns like 2, 1, 2, 1, 2 or 3, 1, 3, 1, 3, 1.

Sometimes, he drives me nuts. He is almost always on red at school. He sits on the toilet for 45 minutes at a time. He doesn't listen. To anyone.  Me, included.

But I never get mad at him for the way he plays. He has great adventures with the characters in his head. He wages battles, usually winning, with his superpowers. He is an expert on magic powers, robots and spirits. He runs back and forth, talking to him and zapping unseen bad guys. He protects our souls inside crystal circles and talks to our spirits. He does it all without telling us. He believes 100% in his powers.

This morning while the other kids ran around with iPods, leaving a trail of stuffed animals and game boards, listening to Bruno Mars and begging to go do something, my son paced back and forth, talking to a turquoise blue ribbon. He tied it in knots and made it zap things. Back and forth he paced, finally tying the ribbon to his wrist. "Zap!" He pointed it at the wall.

I asked him to explain the ribbon to me. It's name was Zap. It had powers. Thunderbolt powers to freeze anything. Zap. I asked if he wanted me to write Zap above the ribbon. He smiled SO BIG. So I tatted up his arms. He beamed. "This is exactly right, mama". He quickly froze me, then giggled. "It was just a little thunderbolt, mama, it will only hurt for a minute."

He looked me in the eyes and as clearly as can be, with full attention, he said "thank you."

And then he ran away, quick as lightning.

Sometimes, I am scared I am contributing to his weirdness. Sometimes I think I need to be the adult that instills the ideals of reality in him. The person that teaches him how to interact without superpowers. But here's the thing: I believe him. And I want someone around to zap away the bad guys. So, rather than break him down, I build him up. And I help him design his costumes.

Maybe we should all tie on a ribbon and feel the power of being special.

Wonderful Wednesday 3/20/13

What Quote or Saying Has Helped You Get Through Darkness?

McTip's Snips Part Two

Read McTip's Snips Part One

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Fear becomes me.

Am I scared to be bald? You bet ya. But every 3 minutes another child around the globe is diagnosed with cancer. THAT IS SCARY. Imagine those parent's fears? If they can do it, if they can wake up each day and put on a smile and a superhero cape and maintain HOPE and SPIRIT, for their children, then surely I can handle a temporarily bald head.

Fear motivates me to OVERCOME.

 

3/4/13

I decided that each day I would share the story a child off of the St. Baldrick's website.
 
1 child each day.
1 child to remind you.
$1.
1,000 people.
30 days.
=Why I am shaving my head.

Cari Jane Hadac's Story

Last night we passed the $250 goal, thanks to a generous donation from Isaiah Hankel. Which means my daughter has to shave her head too. Imagine that strength, she is 12! She is scared to death what her middle school peers will say. 

So, this morning we decided to go from FREAK to ICON.
 
I'm meeting with her counselors and principal this week. We want to make this a school wide event. Where she is a mascot. She is getting her own sign-up on team McTip's Snips. She is also going to use the experience to coincide with her new anti-bully page.

The Universe hears you. Sometimes you just gotta scream. 
Make a bald move.

Dr. Isaiah Hankel
Kid's Against Bullying 

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3/5/13

1 child each day.
1 child to remind you.
$1.
1,000 people.
30 days.
=Why I am shaving my head.

 Linsey H.'s Story

 


 















My daughter was trying on scarves tonight. She is the most powerful 12 year old I know. She is absolutely strong. Well, we are TOGETHER. Her dedication to service comes from deep within. She has a BELIEF that she CAN make a difference. She believes good triumphs over evil. She believes in sacrifice. Now if I could only get her to clean her room...

3/6/13

1 child to remind you.
$1.
1,000 people.
30 days.
=Why I am shaving my head.

Berand's Story 

 

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