Self-control would be helpful.
He’s robust… taller than his peers, by at least six inches; has a solid build carried by feet currently sized at a manly 9½.
He’s outgoing and friendly… no one is a stranger; always lending assistance to others.
He’s articulate… expresses his thoughts and opinions with anyone willing to listen
He’s confident… gives oral presentations without fear.
He’s respectful… walks around the car to open my door; extends a hand for support.
He’s creative and artistic… loves to write fantastical stories; invent, design, and create; drawing pictures to express the many facets of his stories, designs or emotions.
He’s a guy of tender spirit… acknowledging heart matters more than life’s tasks.
He’s intelligent and smart… academics seem easy; common sense is natural.
He’s witty… loves to share stories and quips to make others smile, giggle, and laugh out loud.
He’s affectionate… holds my hand on the couch reading books, during movies; and says “I love you” frequently.
He’s a great, no an incredible writer… anyone reading his stories is awed by his talent.
He’s only weeks away from being 11 years old… on Thanksgiving Day.
He’s a man in the making… shoe size, body odors, and preadolescent interests publicize the undeniable proof.
He’s my son… it brings tears to my eyes.
Not only the sentiment in that statement. But so much more.
Acknowledgement. Gratitude. Identity. Acceptance. Pride. Reminiscence. Relationship. Compassion. Delight. Love.
~
Friday was his school conference. Revealing, as usual, his brilliance. He’s advanced in every subject. Completes his work ahead of time. Excels in reading and math far beyond grade. (Not intended to sound like bragging.)
The given description frames a picture of a very confident, talented, kid with a lot of potential being unveiled. Written this way intentionally to ensure you fully understand how I felt during his late night revelation.
My heart sunk as this son (almost my size) ended his long, tearful disclosure with “Mom, it’s just hurts.”
Love. Rescue. Protection. Combat. Anger. Frustration. Sadness. Worry. Comfort.
… and a little of “don’t you dare” just for kicks!
How can any peer look up (literally) at my son and say “I think you’re stupid;” or tease him about caring for the special needs kids and his defending others, as he is big enough to ward off potential harm to them.
Yet, this courageous giant in my world has a wounded spirit. Hmmph!
Then with a sniffle, he continued sheepishly… “Mom, sometimes I want to punch them in the nose – but I know it’s wrong.”
Truth is… me too!!
~
I know how he feels, I feel the same way and… I’ve found that those peers of childhood grow up to be adults who use words as weapons.
They use conversations as battlegrounds and remain combative toward open-minded ideas. Rather than learn to develop a positive self-concept they throw daggers at others with intent to wound or sting; thereby avoiding potential intimacy or personal responsibility.
Grrr.
~
So there he sat on the couch pulling in his bottom lip and blinking away the last of his tears.
I guess it comes down to being courageous enough to know who you are and what that means to you, not them. Not everyone can face themselves in the mirror and say I like me enough to let you know me too. When I accept me… I am open to accepting others.
However, sometimes in combat or conversation we have to pull out a shield and arm ourselves with a confident self-concept to defuse the weapon of words being used on the battlefield. You must follow the rules of engagement set out at school… be kind, safe, and responsible.
Maintaining a lot of self-control to not punch someone in the nose.
OH! Poor thing! It just kills me when someone wounds a child's spirit that way!
ReplyDeleteMean people stink!
Thank you for agreeing on that with me.
ReplyDelete