Thursday, September 9, 2010

My shit or yours?

And so the school year starts, and I am once again driving an hour in the morning and an hour in the evening, and I am completely off kilter and resentful that I have to wake up early against my will and the weather has decided that if it's back to school time, then it has to be cold, windy and gray. Oh. And I have my period.

It is back to school and on day one Charlie walks right into it. Shit, really. The kid can't avoid walking into shit. And there it sticks, to the bottom of his shoe, and we can all smell it, and we can all beg him to take off his shoe. But he has no other shoe to wear. And so I try to help him navigate, and I wonder. Why? Why does Charlie always have this ONE person that completely monopolizes his time (and mine!) Why?

It has something to do with fairness and equity and fucking justice. I have to swear, because I have to make this point. I have lived with this my whole life ... this NEED, this pure blind rage that you should not have to do something you don't want to or TAKE something that isn't right. My parents told me that I COULD NOT change anything. Here is the thing, that was NOT the way to go about it! I have had a much more difficult life due to the fact that I do not like the word No and if you tell me I CAN NOT do something, then I will spend a lifetime proving you otherwise. The fact that I might not actually prove a thing is meaningless. The WAY we spend our lives is really what it's all about. Oh, if only I didn't HAVE to argue with the english teacher that he was wrong. Guess what! At the age of 47 I can see now that telling him he was wrong probably wasn't the best way to go about it. I have never felt heavily pressured to prove my rightness. I have always just been sure about everyone else's wrongness!

So. Charlie encounters a situation where it's just not fair. I agree with him! It's NOT fair! I know EXACTLY how he feels. In fact, if I were in his shoes I would write long letters (to the editor of 10 different newspapers) and the heads of school and Aunt Mildred in Kansas, talking about the injustice of it all. That was me -- that was what I did. I ranted, I raved, I didn't care what your opinion was, because here is the thing, I AM ALWAYS RIGHT! Always. No seconds.

Okay, so that didn't really work for me, in truth. I am who I am, and I have no plans of changing now, or in the near future. And in fact, I am becoming even more of who I am as I enter this next phase of my life with my eyes wide open. Good, or bad, I care even less now of what anyone thinks of me then I did before. I am a button pusher. I will close my eyes, and without further thought, push the button. (To send out the ranting email, what the hell else are you thinking I was referring to?) But I believe I have learned, through experience, that it's not really worth my time to send my well written rants to small minded morons. That is progress, right?

When the line blurs between Charlie's agenda and mine, I have to stop and think. I would love to tell them (the authority figures that Charlie is dealing with right now) my thoughts. I would love to ask them why did Charlie have to endure a certain degree of hazing as a freshman and when he calls a freshman a tattler it is considered harassment? But no one really cares. Imagine that! No one really cares about what happened before, or what will happen tomorrow. What anyone cares about is just making a problem go away, and the easiest path to make that happen.

What I am trying to figure out now, as opposed to write about the whole stupid thing and give it more power and energy, is how best to go about helping Charlie navigate this. I have to be careful of phrases like "you can't change anything," "you have to do what you are told," and other words that make my own blood boil and the mask of crazy woman falls upon me! Charlie is clearly drawn to this stuff, and while I didn't always step in the shit, I sure as hell smelled it, and that was all it took to get me going.

I just drew a healing card. It was about self-expression and risk vs. safety. New ideas and ways of doing things are often threatening to the status quo. Have the courage to advance your ideas despite the resistance of others. Do so with an open heart and compassion for the points of view of others. Risk keeping an open mind and heart, despite the opinion of others.

That is a tall order for a teenager, but as a seasoned adult there must be a way I can convey this to him. This morning I explained that he was Obama. He was told that he was put with this particular freshman boy because he was a "school leader." The implication here, of course, is that he must rise above. The thing is, he only has the behavior to go on that was modeled to him during his own freshman year. When upper classmen pushed you around and tattling on one another was verboten. Just because he is a "school leader," (or just because Obama is the president of the United States,) does not mean that all the problems you are confronted with are those of your own making. But some how, because you are the school leader/POTA, these problems ARE your fault and YOU need to fix them, and suddenly you lose favor with all those around you because they had FAITH in you and you let them down.

That's a big pile of shit. Steaming hot.

So the risk vs. safety part of the healing card -- a card I drew because I was supposed to -- is the push the button vs. not pushing the button. Take a stand, or risk, and see how that plays out, or take cover (safety) and see how that plays out. My natural born instinct is to jump on the horse with guns blazing and risk everything. But I get it. This is NOT A BIG DEAL. Even big piles of shit wash away in a heavy rainstorm, or rot into the soil. Long forgotten. No one cares who is right or wrong. No one.

I am 47 and he is 15. He won't listen to me, he's not programmed to -- nor should he, really. I might not be right. And that isn't even a risk or safety statement. For the first time ever, I don't care! It doesn't MATTER. He won't be able to let it go, but I can. It might be the job of the school officials to take care of piles of shit that mar their pretty lawns. But it's not mine!

It's not mine.

It's. Not. Mine.

Can it really be that simple?


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