June 1: Dreamed of Africa, Son's Graduation, Night of Dreams

Santiago dreams . . . 

He was asleep in a short time and he dreamed of Africa when he was a boy and the long golden beaches and the white beaches, so white they hurt your eyes, and the high capes and the great brown mountains. He lived along that coast now every night and in his dreams he heard the surf roar and saw the native boats come riding through it. He smelled the tar and oakum of the deck as he slept and he smelled the smell of Africa that the land breeze brought at morning.

Usually when he smelled the land breeze he woke up and dressed to go and wake the boy. But tonight the smell of the land breeze came very early and he knew it was too early in his dream and went on dreaming to see the white peaks of the Islands rising from the sea and then he dreamed of the different harbours and roadsteads of the Canary Islands.

He no longer dreamed of storms, nor of women, nor of great occurrences, nor of great fish, nor fights, nor contests of strength, nor of his wife. He only dreamed of places now and of the lions on the beach. They played like young cats in the dusk and he loved them as he loved the boy. He never dreamed about the boy. He simply woke, looked out the open door at the moon and unrolled his trousers and put them on. He urinated outside the shack and then went up the road to wake the boy. He was shivering with the morning cold. But he knew he would shiver himself warm and that soon he would be rowing.

Santiago dreams of Africa and lions on a beach.  Things from his youth.

This evening was a night of dreams.  My son's eighth grade graduation.  It has been a long road to this night.  Lots of struggles along the way for him.  School has always been a challenge, from the time he was in Head Start.  When he left his Head Start, however, he seemed to be on the right course.  But from kindergarten on has been another story.  I can honestly say that he's only had one really good year.  It was first grade, and his teacher got him.  Loved him.  And he loved school that year.  That means, out of 11 years of education, he's had nine good months.

Graduations are filled with hopes and dreams.  Starry-eyed students who think that they own the world.  And, for the most part, that's what tonight was.  Lots of happy, proud parents.  Lots of inappropriately loud teens, embarrassed to be the center of so much attention.

It has been a rough three years for these kids.  Halfway through their fifth grade, they were hit with a global pandemic.  Life, and their educations, ground to a halt.  There were wars over facemasks.  A crazy President of the United States who thought COVID would simply vanish if he ignored it.  Death, death, and more death.  Rampant mental illness.  And, a little over a month ago, one of their seventh-grade classmates killed himself with a gun in the school bathroom.

So, my son, who has been seriously struggling for almost all of his school life, was thrown into a tailspin that I don't think he's fully recovered from yet.  Add into that mix these last five or so months of bullying and teasing, and it's a wonder he walked across that gym floor and received his certificate at all.

I have dreams for my son.  Every parent has dreams for their children.  I'm not sure my son has dreams for himself yet beyond playing a video game with his older sister.  That makes me really sad.  On more than one occasion, he's told me that he knows he's a bad kid.  Of course, when he's said that, I've made him tell me all the things about himself that he likes.  

So, tonight, we threw a party for my son.  Had a huge group of family and friends at the house.  Bought four pizzas.  Played games.  Gave him cards and gifts.  And I think he felt loved and celebrated.

Saint Marty hopes his son finds his dreams soon.  

April 2: Newts, My Son, ADHD Medication

Once I camped "alone" at Douthat State Park in the Allegheny Mountains near here, and spent the greater part of one afternoon watching children and newts.  There were many times more red-spotted newts at the edge of the lake than there were children; the supply exceeded even that very heavy demand.  One child was collecting them in a Thermos mug to take home to Lancaster, Pennsylvania, to feed an ailing cayman.  Other children ran to their mothers with squirming fistfuls.  One boy was mistreating the newts spectacularly:  he squeezed them by their tails and threw them at a shoreline stone, one by one.  I tried to reason with him, but nothing worked.  Finally he asked me, "Is this one a male?" and in a fit of inspiration I said, "No, it's a baby."  He cried, "Oh, isn't he cute!" and cradled the newt carefully back into the water.

Dillard is watching a little boy being, well, a little boy.  Not really caring about the consequences of his actions, the child tosses them at rocks, probably killing a majority of them.  There's little in the way of respect for the natural world in the little boy.  I'm sure he's the kind of kid who would strip trees bare of bark and uproot fields of trillium for fun.  Yet, Dillard is able to stop this future oil company CEO in his tracks by making him see the newt differently.  By making him recognize the newt as more than just a disposable resource.  The newt is a baby.

I have a seven-year-old son with ADHD.  I have seen the kind of havoc he can wreak on innocent plants and trees and shrubs.  Unmedicated, my son would punch classmates in the stomach and tear branches off playground saplings.  He had a difficult kindergarten year, spending a lot of time in the principal's office.  He even got sent to detention a couple of times with much older children (a decision I did not agree with or support). 

Last year, in first grade, my son was placed on an ADHD medication, and it made a huge difference in his life.  He was able to sit in class and focus.  He had a teacher who truly loved him, and he started getting recognition for how smart he is at math and science and, in particular, reading comprehension.  He excelled. 

This year has been really good for him, as well.  His second grade teacher loves him (she was my daughter's kindergarten teacher).  She calls my son her "IT guy" because he is able to help her with problems on the classroom computer.  Recently, however, we've all noticed that my son's attention has been lagging.  He's gotten into trouble on the playground.  At home, he can't seem to listen, has started throwing the kind of out-of-control temper tantrums he used to exhibit before he started taking his medication.

My son's pediatrician has increased the dosage on his ADHD drug.  Just started the new dosage this past Tuesday, so it's a little too soon to say whether it's helping or not.  I'm praying it does, because my son is a really good kid.  My parish priest once commented to me that my son "has a really bright spirit of God about him."  I believe that.

So, I'm keeping my fingers crossed, saying a few extra Hail Mary's for my son right now.  He knows that the world is a gift, a blessing.  And he knows that he has to take care of that gift.

Saint Marty is trying to take care of his baby newt right now.

Happy April Fool's Day--just kidding!  It's April 2nd!

September 2: Hang Onto Things, Kids, Prayer for a Big Boy

Mothers for miles around worried about Zuckerman's swing.  They feared some child would fall off.  But no child ever did.  Children almost always hang onto things tighter than their parents think they will.

E. B. White is talking about a rope in a barn.  A really long rope that swings really, really high without any kind of safety precautions.  You know, the kind of things kids love to do, and the kind of thing that parents have nightmares about.  Sort of like seeing your toddler son on the curb of a busy city intersection and not being able to stop him from stepping into traffic.

I put my kids on the bus this morning for their first day of school.  My daughter is a pro.  An eighth grader, full of confidence.  She knows the game.  My five-year-old son, on the other hand, had a rough kindergarten year.  Lots of visits with the principal.  Lots of talks with the school counselor.  It was a long year.

I have to say that I was a little anxious all day.  When I came home this evening, the first thing I did was look at my phone to see if there was a voice mail waiting for me.  There was no voice mail.  When I talked to my son a little later, I told him how happy I was that he behaved himself.  He looked at me and said, "I'm in first grade.  I'm a big boy now."

Kids constantly surprise parents.  As E. B. White writes, they hang onto things tighter than their parents think they will.  Today, my son did just that.

My prayer for this week is that my son keeps holding on.  Tight.  That he remembers he's a big boy now.

Saint Marty is so proud of his son.

Not this kind of big boy...