We had an uneventful dinner and, truthfully, I had forgotten about it, until right before the boys were to go up and get ready for bed, Jude reminded J.P. to tell me what had happened at aftercare. He sat down in the chair next the couch and began talking quietly, not making much eye contact with me. Clearly, he knew he had done something wrong. I listened.
The long and short of it was that J.P. and three buddies initially had gotten into trouble for running through a hall in the school to get outside to play, when they were supposed to be walking. The director of middle school aftercare saw them, told them to come back inside and walk in the hall like they were supposed to do. For some reason, three of the four boys - including J.P. - decided to run again. She saw them, confronted them about why they were running again when she had just told them not to, and J.P. lied about it. He said he had been walking, which was obviously not true.
I queried J.P. - cross examined him, actually - and quickly determined he had been third in line. I know him and he would not have started running a second time if he had been first in line. My problem, of course, was that he had followed his two buddies as they ran in the hall. In other words, he was being a follower, not a leader.
As an aside, leading and leadership is a big thing - maybe the biggest thing for me - when it comes to the boys. When he was at Children's House, J.P. had a tendency to follow one boy in particular who had a dominant personality. Occasionally, he made poor choices and did things he normally wouldn't do simply because he was following someone else. A large part of the reason we decided to start J.P. in school late was so he would be one of the older boys in his class and, hopefully, be a leader. I didn't want him getting into a car, for example, with a drunk 16 or 17 year old in high school because he didn't have a strong enough personality to tell him or others that he wasn't getting in the car.
So, I told J.P. that I saw two problems with what had happened at aftercare.
First, he had been a follower. Followers don't think for themselves. Followers often follow those who have made bad decisions.
Second, he lied about what he had done, which was stupid. His two buddies immediately owned up to it but he, for some reason, lied when the aftercare director had seen them running. Why? Because he was scared he would get into trouble. I told him the lying - or the coverup - was always worse than the offense. Always. When you make a mistake, own it, take your punishment like a man, and move on.
What I learned next, however, broke my heart.
"Tell Dad the rest of the story, J.P.," Jude said. "There's more?" I asked.
After he got caught and lied to the aftercare director, she told him she didn't believe him and that she had seen him running. For some reason, he was stunned the she didn't believe him and had a complete meltdown. He started crying and when she told him to go back inside, he slammed open the double doors leading into the school and slapped his hands on the table when she told him to sit down. He was crying harder at this point.
All very, very unlike J.P. Really, the entire episode was unlike J.P. Nothing like this had ever happened at school before.
He cried for five or ten minutes while she watched him. Then, he caught his breath, leaned back, clasped his hands behind his head and started talking.
"Ok," he said. "This is what's going on. I miss Meemaw - my grandmother. I haven't been able to talk about it, not really. My dad has been busy at work, so he hasn't been around as much. And I don't want to talk to him about how I feel because I'm afraid it will make him sad."
I sat in stunned silence, tears in my eyes, as Jude recounted what J.P. had told the aftercare director, word for word. J.P. sat across from me, staring at me, crying quietly.
J.P. got up and walked over to me, then sat down on the couch beside me. I put my arm around him as he cried and comforted him. I had tears in my eyes, too.
He told me how much he missed my mom. He said he'd been thinking about all of the times when he was little, when he stayed with her and she took him to the Brentwood Public Library and all of the things they did together at her house. He said he'd just been so sad.
My memory of what I said to him is a blur. I struggled to find the right words - the perfect words - to comfort my 10 year old son who was carrying such heavy load in his heart.
I apologized for not checking in on him more to see how he was doing, like I had done the first couple of weeks after my mom died. He had told me he was fine and that he didn't have any questions or need to talk about it. I should have been more persistent, more aware of him and how he was feeling. Instead, I think I was so caught up in my own grief that I assumed he was fine.
I also apologized for having to work so much recently. I felt terrible about that. I work in such a demanding profession and missing almost three weeks from work had put me way behind. Still, I should have found a way to get home earlier.
We cried together, as Jude watched us. I told him how much Meemaw loved him and how lucky he was to have spent the times he did with her, because he always would have those memories of her to sustain him. I told him I was sad, too, but that I was a better person - as was he - for having had her in my life.
I also told him that I took comfort in knowing my mom was in heaven, that where she was, now, she could walk, laugh and, most importantly, that she had her memory back. She can remember all of the happy times from her life. And that's she's watching over us and waiting for us to join her someday.
I'm trying hard, so very hard, to believe that. It's part of what sustains me, I think, but it's hard. So damn hard.
Jude and I took J.P. upstairs and put him to bed. He was exhausted.
So was I.
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