October 16: Bob's Voice, Strong and Hearty, Meltdown

Bob's voice was tremulous when he told them this, and trembled more when he said that Tiny Tim was growing strong and hearty.

Bob has just voiced his hopes for Tiny Tim, even though he knows, deep in his heart, that Tim's prospects are pretty bleak.  Tiny Tim will not survive to adulthood unless some kind of miracle occurs.  At the time Dickens wrote A Christmas Carol, childhood death was not uncommon in Victorian England.  Hygiene wasn't the greatest, and the plague wasn't yet a distant memory.  Bob's fears are not unfounded for his weak little son.

Last night, after we got home from the Wisconsin Dells, my daughter had a huge meltdown.  I thought it was simply because she was exhausted from the weekend of dancing and late nights.  However, after about 45 minutes of screaming and slamming doors, I discovered the cause of her anxieties.  She kept on saying she was a failure, and I kept on telling her she did really well in her dance classes and her flute practice.  I thought she was worried about a social science test she has to take today.  Then, she finally confessed that she received a "D+" on a science test last week.

The poor little girl had been carrying that around for almost five days, afraid to tell me or my wife, not wanting to "disappoint" us.  By the time I got this information from her, she was sobbing so hard I could barely understand her.

It was one of those parent moments where I didn't know what to say or do to calm her down.  She's told me that science was harder for her this year than last, but she hasn't told me she was struggling so much.  I tried to hold her, get her to stop crying.  I don't even remember exactly what I said.  Probably something like, "It's OK.  I'll help you study.  You'll be OK.  I'll give your teacher a call to see how I can help you out.  I'm not disappointed in you."   And on and on.  You get the idea.

I have never put much pressure on my daughter to perform well in school.  She just always has.  Now, I'm going to call her school to make sure she's not failing one of her subjects.  In some ways, I feel like I've failed her.  I don't understand how I couldn't have recognized her anguish.  She hid it so well.  I think she takes after me.  I tend to suppress my troubles.  It's so much easier than confronting and dealing with them.

Well, I was able to calm her down last night, after a couple of hours.  I helped her study for her social science test.  I got her to feel like the world wasn't coming to an end.  I hope.

Saint Marty thinks his daughter is strong and hearty this morning.

My daughter's cry for help last night