My oldest is not having a very great start to the new semester. Spanish II in the 8th grade is sort of kicking his butt. A very frustrated young man finally admits that he needs his daddy and me to help him. He simply cannot understand why this is so difficult for him when it's not for so many of his friends and when he's never really had to struggle like this. I tell him I understand, but he knows I've never really been in his shoes. I always loved school -- his competitive spirit in regard to soccer and running is matched only by how I have always felt about learning. I was a competitive gymnast, a diver / swimmer, and a cheerleader in my early years, but (sadly perhaps) my true passion was in education -- okay, so there is no surprise to my children that I teach school. This sweet child of mine simply can not comprehend how much I love the process of learning. In an attempt to make him understand, I try to compare it to his own passions. I talk about practice, about the big games, about pushing himself to be better than others. To me it's the same as being taught, homework, tests, and getting high grades overall. He doubts me, and I honestly understand why. My perspective -- an adult, 19 years into teaching, just might possibly appreciate the struggles of learning more than a 13-year old in Spanish II. His striking, appropriate comment: seriously, Mom; when was the last time you really had to struggle. I'm sure you have before, but do you really honestly remember what it feels like?
I feel struck by a great blow. He is right. A struggle the magnitude of which he is currently dealing is so far removed from my life that I actually feel badly. What have I been doing? When was the last time I put myself out there? I think about the time, several years ago, when I became a ROPES facilitator and spent three weeks being trained to take kids to challenge themselves as they climbed and jumped on wires strung between trees 20 feet off the ground. But the biggest challenge for me then was not the activities themselves but the worry that I was appropriately prepared to take out the kids. I took the kids -- my then 4th grade son among them; I was prepared -- I rose above my fears. Circumstances have changed, however, and I don't have time to take kids out to the course anymore. My days are full of teaching, sponsoring, soccer - moming, and home-ownering. I'm pretty darn busy, but I'm suddenly aware that I've at last settled in to being not the least bit challenged. I'm disappointed in this realization. Where has my competitive spirit gone? Where has my passion for challenge gone? I have no idea that as this realization is hitting me an idea is hitting my son that will change everything...
"Mom, if you started running I bet you'd understand how I feel about school. I know that you don't expect school to be easy to me, but I also know that it was for you. For me, right now at least, I'm sort of missing that motivation, focus and drive. I'd like for it to be easy for me, but it's not."
I, of course, understand. While I would love for him to love school and find Spanish easy, I realize it is not. I'm okay with it. I know we,as a family, must work on it, but I get it. I tell him so.
"So, you're willing to finally start running?"
Crap - how'd I miss his reference to running? How'd I miss what he was getting at? Crap!
And this is how we end the night. I will help him become more focused on school and Spanish. He, in turn, will support me in becoming a runner.
"Don't worry, Mom," he says with a smile, "I'll be glad to clap for you as you cross the finish line."
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