You're not alone, George.

George turned 6 this weekend. He had a joint pool party with his BFF, Nate. To be clear, this is officially his 2nd BFF, his original BFF was Hen(d)ry Bush. The only reason this pool party happened is because the 2 of them planned it. No, really. Nate and George come home with convincing stories about one another and their lives, every night. Us parents frequently exchange notes. Rarely, are their stories fully true or accurate, but guaranteed, they are hilarious. Every time. The pool party was no exception. They seemed so sure this "pool party" had been planned, who were we to disagree? The teachers, and even classmates, admit that the two of them tend to just excitedly speak and giggle about things of which, nobody actually knows what they're talking about. It seems the two of them live in their own little world.

When I first learned of this friendship, it absolutely over-flowed my heart with joy.  Not just because I enjoy Nate's parents, but because, I'd worried no one would "get" George. You see, of all my children, I have always found George to be the hardest for me to understand, connect with, jive. He and his father bonded so easily. I, on the other hand, just frequently feel frustration when trying to parent him. He tends to have these stubborn moments, where he simply shuts down. Being born with an extremely low supply of patience, this dynamic doesn't work well. George has some of the highest highs, he makes us laugh more than any of the other kids (though Diana has quite the master to learn from and is advancing quickly), but he also brings out that anger {I typically try to deny even exists with in me} and I just have to walk away. I say all this with complete love for my child, each one has their own, very individual list of peaks and lows. Today, in church, I truly couldn't decide what I was observing in George. A peak? Or a low?

 

 


There was a pew plus about five seats spaces between George and I this morning at the weekly Wednesday all-school mass so I had a great view of him. On this particular day, the kids were coming off a 4.5 day break turned 5.5 days due to weather, which also means Cabin Fever. I could see Curtis a bit further from me, then Brock one more row from there. Curtis yawned, stretched, picked his nose bit, but otherwise seemed content to just sit. Brock gazed all throughout the church, bobbing back ever so slightly the ENTIRE mass, and at one point I was sincerely concerned that he might have literal ants in his pants. No one seemed to notice or mind. Then we get to George. You could see that George wanted to be still. He loves to please people. His favorite thing in the world is to help others and see their appreciation and satisfaction. His second favorite thing is probably hugs. He doesn't want to be a disturbance or disobedient, yet, he could. Not. Sit. Still.

He could not sit upright. The kid next to him was coughing, so he needed to cover his ears. The music was too loud. His shoe felt funny. He needed to blow his nose. I'm sure the hard wooden pew was too firm on his bottom. His shirt probably had shifted and he could feel the tag of his pants. For all I know, the light was too bright, the piano too loud, the temp too hot. He was being assaulted by so many uncomfortable, bothersome things, and when he tried to fix them, he was being asked to hold still. To be quiet. I could feel his exasperation. I could sense how conflicted he feels in his little heart. Wanting so much to please his teachers, parents, loved ones, friends...yet his body is sending him totally different signals. I could see him bring his hands up to his face and rub it in frustration - something identical to my coping with irritating/frustrating situations.

In this moment, I suddenly knew. There I am. There is my genetic contribution to my little Matt-clone, daddy's boy. I used to dread mass. The hard pew, the kneeling, the sitting still, the quiet, the holding hands - some dry, some sweaty, some dirty. The hot. The cold. The sounds. I dreaded assemblies. I watched me classmates sit stone still, cross legged, on the gym floor, and would give myself pep talks: "Look, they seem comfortable. Courtney Jianas hasn't moved in 45 minutes. Everyone else can do this, so can I." I'd repeat this over and over as my legs burned on fire from holding still, and finally, I couldn't take it anymore. I'd extend my legs. Stretch out my back. Whisper something to a friend. Go to the bathroom. ANYTHING to not be trapped like this for one moment longer.

There were times I was accused of being a teacher's pet, and now, seeing George, and how much he loves to help. How it could mutually help him get out of the restrictive classroom rules, while not being a disturbance and actually being productive, I see why I did it. Why teachers allowed it. Instead of being punished for moving and talking, I was being useful. Busy is such an over-used word these days, but that's what we are. Me, Brock, George. We are busy.

I could see George frustrating those around him, but, in my heart, I smiled. He's in Kindergarten, he will hopefully continue to learn coping skills, as I did. As Brock has. I could see Brock staring at the ceiling, probably in a completely different world, distracting himself from the mass discomforts. Though, now I find the church to be a place of peace, and quiet, I still struggle to hold still. Constantly switching which leg is crossed, giving myself pep talks not to lean my butt against the pew while kneeling, convincing myself I don't need to go to the restroom. In high school, teachers frequently found me in the hall "on my way to or from the restroom"; it became a running joke from a lot of them where they'd ask if I actually attended any classes. In college, I simply didn't attend lecture. In med school, I had to have the outside, back row seat due to my frequent position switches, moving, getting up and down. I would subconsciously hike my scrub pants up past my knees because somehow that is more comfortable.

So, this part of me is so frustrated for kids like George. And Brock. They are good kids. They just sort of beat to their own drum. The structure and rules of school will always be a struggle because it simply isn't their "style". So far, we have been incredibly lucky to have amazing teachers that seem to "get it". There is no snuffing of their personalities or creativity while also trying to help guide them to behave a bit more conventionally while in school. We, as parents, don't accept any sort of disrespect or defiance and expect them to do as they're asked. We are flexible and willing to work with these boys in whatever way they need to grow up to be intelligent, functioning, happy, loving and respectful individuals. The school seems to be totally in line with these principles as well.

George will not have an easy road. I wonder if he will make it through 8th grade in this more rigid-type educational structure, perhaps he will eventually require an alternative school. Perhaps not. All I know, is that I love this kid. For all his struggles, he has the biggest heart a little boy could ever possess. He uses hilarious facial expressions, bizarre hand movements, funny stories and comedy all around to protect that sensitive infrastructure. It's irresistibly endearing. If nothing else, he will always have people that love him, and coming from experience...that is more than enough. You're not alone, George. {You have Nate.}