Exactly two weeks ago, it was Parent Visitation Day at my younger son’s middle school. This marked my fifth go-round with PVD, thanks to having two kids spaced three years apart. #poorplanning #hindsightis2020. In the past, I’ve blogged about my begrudging return to middle school (always at the request of my child), lamenting about how uncomfortable the chairs are, how crowded the halls are and how short my attention span is. But this year I’m not writing another been-there-done-that-thank-goodness-I’m-not-still-in-middle-school post because this year my seventh grader specifically asked me not to attend. Apparently, I embarrass him.
At first, I was hurt. I cried for days.
His declaration stunned me. I realize it’s normal for kids his age to be embarrassed by their parents, but me, too? This feeling was new for me, as my older son never said anything remotely similar at 12 or 13, or even now at 15. Then again, he mostly mumbles, so maybe he has and I just didn’t hear it. Being rejected by anyone sucks, but this snub felt like a dagger through my heart because it came from my youngest. He’s emotional like me and his rejection tapped into all my parenting neuroses: I’m not maternal enough; I’m not empathetic enough; I’m not good enough … From there, I spiraled into “I’m-failing-as-a-mother-and-I’m-ruining-my-kids” territory. It wasn’t pretty. On the bright side, their future therapists will love me, so there’s that.
Then I was angry. I yelled loudly and irrationally.
Once I got over being sad, I was pissed. How dare he tell me I embarrass him? I gave him life. I bend over backwards to do for him. Every. Damn. Day. I cook, I clean, I drive him places … I gave up a corporate career to parent him. How did I raise such an ungrateful brat? He should thank me. Cherish me. Love me. As hard as it is to admit, I really did feel this way. This horrible, egotistical way — at least for awhile.
Then I got over it. Calmly and maturely.
In case you haven’t figured it out by now, I’m a very dramatic and emotional person. I yell, I curse, I cry … unabatedly and often without reason. But once I sit with my emotions for some time and overthink them to the point of exhaustion, I can usually see them for what they are: An overreaction based on my anxieties and fears. So after a few days of wallowing in self-pity and a few more days seething with resentment, I realized two things: (1) I never wanted to go in the first place, so the kid was actually doing me a favor and (2) his not wanting me to go wasn’t really about me at all; It was about him and his fears and anxieties.
Middle school can be a tough time for kids and this kid, my youngest, isn’t as confident and resilient as my older son. Once I was calm enough to discern this, I was able to have an open and honest discussion with him. I apologized for my outrageously selfish reaction and confessed my deepest parenting worries. I empathized with his angst and expressed my unconditional love for him. I’m sure some of what I said went over his head, but I think he got the message. In the end, we hugged it out and he asked me to attend two classes: English and Non-Fiction Writing, which were (thankfully) scheduled back-to-back and after lunchtime. I happily agreed.
In typical fashion, I arrived a few minutes late to the first class — English. I snuck in quietly as the kids were taking turns reading their “Abuelito Who”-inspired poems. Unaware about whom my son chose to wax poetically, I was immediately filled with emotion as he recited his first stanza, “The gym is her home …” Not only was his poem well-written, vivid and poignant, it was about me. It was a metaphorical ode to his love, gratitude and admiration for me. He called me “the marshmallow to [his] hot chocolate.” Needless to say, I teared up a little. When the second class was over and my brief time in middle school came to an end, my shy, apprehensive 12-year-old thanked me and hugged me right there in the hallway where other kids could see. Once again, I teared up. [I told you I was emotional!]
So this year, my middle school takeaways extend beyond the annual insights that I’m perpetually tardy, bored and socially awkward. I learned a real lesson on October 26: Despite all my shortcomings, my kids do appreciate, love and respect me; They can even surprise me. And you know what? Maybe, just maybe, I’m not failing at this motherhood thing after all because my kids are pretty damn great — and I’d like to think I had something to do with that.
– LJDT
