Questionnaire

Henry’s new teachers (he’s got two this year) mailed us a questionnaire. We received it in June, so naturally we filed it away until last night, hours before his first day of second grade.

This has been an extraordinarily challenging couple of weeks, parenting-wise. Camp was over, school had not yet begun. It was hot and humid, as it generally is this time of year. Most of Henry’s friends were out of town. Henry was bored. We were out of things to do. And we fought. All three of us, in different permutations. Eight-year-oldness, at least around here, has been a preview of adolescence and all its sulky, dramatic horrors. I didn’t like it. Scott didn’t like it. We were exhausted. At the end of the day we’d put Henry to bed and watch Lost on Netflix. We started at Season 1 a couple of months ago and we’re already nearing the end. We’d watch episode after episode until we were falling asleep. Somehow it was comforting to watch. Our kid was being difficult. We were undoubtedly being difficult right back. But at least we weren’t trapped on an island, fighting for our very lives!

So last night we filled out the questionnaire. How would you describe your child? What does your child most enjoy? What are your child’s greatest challenges? I struggled to answer it. Could I even accurately describe my own child? Could I get past my own anger and frustration and hopes and projections and see him for who he is? Damned if I know. Sometimes I can see us hurtling toward some future where we don’t understand each other, not even a little bit. I hope that's not true, of course, but it's not as outside the realm of possibilities as I once thought it was.

I found out last week that someone very dear to me died. She died last year, and I had no idea. She was 85, so it’s not like it was unexpected, but it hit me hard.

Lois Hunt was my voice teacher. I was pretty serious about singing, when I was in high school, and then I found Lois. I went to her a couple of times a week. And Lois, well, she took me seriously. Is there anything you want more, when you're a kid? She had a talent I suspect few adults really share: to consider a teenager like I was--a goofy, depressed, anxious, semi-formed being--a peer worthy of attention.

Lois didn’t mess around. She had little patience for my antics, and she gently dismissed my frequent attempts to deflect her attention. And believe me, I tried. I thought if anyone really got a look at me, they would find out how wrong I was, how hopeless and awful. What that would mean, I didn’t know--there were no words for it. But all those fears were beside the point when I was with her. I was there to work, and I was expected to be serious, and I was. When I was at Lois’s house, I was okay, and I would be okay, and I knew it.

Lois and I spent a lot of time together for only a couple of years, but they were important years, as anyone who’s endured high school knows. I was struggling. After my lesson, we’d talk. She’d make me tea and show me pictures from her storied musical career. I’d play with her cats and tell her about my latest troubles. I don’t recall her giving any advice, although I’m sure she did, but I do remember feeling understood. If there had been a questionnaire back then, if someone had wanted to know about me, I would have asked Lois to fill it out. Even though I only saw her a couple of times a week, and even though she didn’t have the considerable task of raising me.

What do I most enjoy? How would I describe myself? What are my greatest challenges? I’m still not sure. I still sometimes think that if I could call Lois and we could catch up, she would lead me to some answers. And I hope that someday, if I can’t help Henry know who he is, he finds someone like Lois who can.

Comments

[Holly]

So sorry to hear about Lois. I think I had a few of those- but none was a relationship as close as yours was.

What made me cry though was reading about Henry. My son is 7 1/2. August was horrible. School started for us last week and- although he would never admit to it- my son's mood has improved. I'm not counting on it to last, but it's been a nice break from walking on eggshells around him, moodiness, and drama. And, worst of all, feeling like the closeness I have felt with my son was coming to an end. That was happening much earlier than I expected. I dread the teenage years.

Oh, and our escape at the end of the night was It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia. Nothing like watching other peoples' incredibly bad choices to make you feel better about your own life!

[b]

My son was horrible when he was little. Just horrible. My poor husband was working ALL THE TIME and our son took his anger and frustration about the situation out on me. It was AWFUL. Absolutely heartbreaking that this little guy whom I loved and who really ought to love me just a little bit was so... mean. (And like I'm sure is the case with you, although I may not have always responded to his anger with love and understanding, I approached every interaction with hope and affection and patience. He was just going through a lot, poor little guy.)

Now (and for the past several years)... he is AWESOME. So funny and loving and a genuine pleasure to be around. I really really miss him when he's not in the house. And he's SIXTEEN! Who'da thunk it?

I can't overstate how awful it was around here when he was little. Well, that's not true. He was never violent, just pissy and angry and disobedient. Still, ugh. And now he is an absolute joy. So have hope! Your patience and endurance may be tested right now but it really can get so much better.

[Christine]

I'm so sorry to hear of your loss. I had a few minor Loises in my life, but my real Lois, was a Dori. She was (and hopefully still continues to be) great.

Best wishes to you and the family as you get through the angsty last days of summer and first days of school.

[Erika]

Eight is just hard. The wanting to be independant, but still being a child. The moodiness already but not having the ability to understand what's going on. The physical and mental changes just starting to occur. It exhausts me to think about the teenage years. Just know you're not alone.

[Life of a Doctor's Wife]

I'm so sorry for your loss. I didn't have a Lois, but I did have a couple of teachers who seemed to see beyond the "kidness" and understand me as a person. That kind of understanding is invaluable. I'm glad you had it, and I hope it's out there for Henry as well.

[BuenoBaby]

Although we are strangers and live thousands of miles apart, we are probably watching Lost's final episodes by way of Netflix and breathing a sigh of relief that the day with 'the roommate' has concluded. Roommate. That's what we call our 12 year old. Long ago we realized that our home would never truly be ours alone again.

Also, I'm sorry for your loss. Grief and parenting don't always sit well together.

[hls]

Oh Alice, once again you stun me with your brilliant storytelling ... that magic ability to weave 2 seemingly unrelated topics together, to speak of Henry so that we all adore him (even if he's being rotten!), and address our universal need to be understood.I am humbled and moved.Yes, enough to comment not just lurk ...

[Robyn]

This is my favourite post of yours yet.

[Lynn]

Maybe this will sound trite, but: Pray. Pray for your child. It won't solve everything, but it fills your heart with the purity of feeling you have when he is a teeny tiny baby in your arms and hasn't yet figured out how to annoy the shit out of you.

I guess I like to believe that God sees our best selves and accepts the worse in us and forgives it, so if I can connect to that for my children, maybe I can for an eensty weensty second understand the meaning of unconditional love.

Is it Okay to mention praying here? Well, maybe you have no desire for advice or solutions, but I have felt like you the fear of inevitable alienation from my children and have often found prayer the only way to bring us closer, on a level minus the daily fights and struggles. And I'm not so afraid now.Love and strength to you on the adolescence front.

[Leslie Hawkins]

My goodness, what you wrote about Lois was just beautiful. You are so talented!

" And believe me, I tried. I thought if anyone really got a look at me, they would find out how wrong I was, how hopeless and awful." This is the best description of that, that ... feeling I've read. I used to say that I don't hold up under scutiny.

Honestly, you know a part of Henry that no one else ever will. Keep describing it to him, so he'll start understanding himself before that inescapable time of self-doubt.

[Dragon]

I love it. Thank you for your honesty. I feel like I'm supposed help my Aspie daughter be her best self, and sometimes I just don't know what her best self is. It's just so hidden beneath all that anxiety and the screaming and the attitude.

[Lisame]

Well, let me tell you about 8. He was an asshole. 9 is a MUCH more likable kid. Just bear with 8. 9 is close. 9 you will like!

[Jeannie]

Alice -- you continue to strike me as such a good person and mother. I am impressed by your thoughtfulness and insight in living and mothering.

[Caroline Calcote]

I'm sorry for the loss of your friend and mentor. I remember what it was like when the rare adult treated me as an equal when I was a teenager. You never forget that, and thank you for reminding me to treat kids that way. It's so easy to forget what it was like to be young when you are in the throes of adulthood/parenthood yourself.

Oh, and I have a 9 year old so I totally relate to the foreshadowing of adolescence. It's going on in our house too, totally! Does "tween" start at 10? Whatever...so much drama and struggling for independence already!

[Jessica {Team Rasler}]

Sorry you lost someone special. It's always hard, no matter how expected it may be. Though the idea that I may not be the one who understands my boys someday, I will try to be like you and be wise enough to hope they find their own Lois, too. Thanks for the insight.

[Alexandra]

Oh, but just isn't that a loss? I'm so sorry.

[megansquared]

I had an English teacher like this for the last two years of high school. She was tough with me, and I didn't quite understand why. She didn't put up with any of my excuses or insecurities. One day, after turning in a late paper or some other sort of minor misbehavior, she asked me to stay after class. I thought she would yell at me.

Instead, she told me that she demanded more because I was talented and special and worthy of the hard work it would take to reach my potential. She understood my issues and insecurities, and instead of dismissing me as a problem child from a troubled home, she made me feel like I would amount to something. She made me believe that I WAS special and I WAS talented, and I DID deserve the world.

I wish she knew how much I appreciated her.

[Elizabeth]

Alice,

From reading your blog for several years, I have come to the conclusion that you are an excellent mom, most of all because you are "present" to your son with your time and your attention. That will go a long, long way toward him letting you know him. Even when he is going through difficult "growing pain" periods. Keep on keeping on. I think that you and Henry have and will continue to have a good relationship and will get past the inevitable rocky times.



Best to your family,Elizabeth

[deetz]

That was so beautiful....

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[r4ds]

My children's also in the same class. and Henry is his best friends.