Hello Muddah, Hello Fadduh...Yeah, Right!

I achieved a personal milestone today, that I didn't know could ever be possible, when I dropped off my oldest son, with his grandmother, to attend yoga camp. When talk initially surfaced last summer, of this opportunity taking place, I sort of blew it off with an, 'Okay, sure, whatever you say', type of attitude, but over the course of that year, it never went away. The time got closer and closer, and he kept talking about how excited he was to go until, BAM!, here we are, and he's on his way. How could this happen? How could I let it happen? This is completely irresponsible of me to think this is something he can handle. I mean, come on, it's an 8 hour car ride; he can't possibly handle that. And then what happens when he shows up and has no friends, and won't talk to anyone, and gets ignored, and wants to come home in the first five minutes. This can't possibly work. But what if it can...

My wife accused me the other day of being a "Helicopter Parent", a phrase I'd never heard before, and couldn't wrap my head around, until I stopped to think about what it is exactly that a helicopter does...hover. Perhaps I might have been a little quicker on the draw had she instead, called me a 'UFO Parent'. But, I'm really not 'that guy'; at least not with my other kids. With this one, though, it's different. It's always been different. I can't really explain the logic in it. It could be the fact that he's our first, our guinea pig of parenting. How would you manage an entire overhaul of your life, having a 2 year-old come home with you one day, you with absolutely zero parenting experience, or skill, and more than likely, no business being responsible for another human life, especially a little one? But, this was our reality. It was everything we'd hoped for and every single thing we'd feared. So, we dug in and we did our best and we fought fiercely because we didn't know what else to do. And you know what? He survived. And he thrived, which wasn't always a foregone conclusion. I'm sure that's some of why I'm a neurotic basket case with him. Possibly. More than likely though, it's about the fact that he is afflicted with a condition he's had since birth, Schizencephaly. Sounds impressive, right? It's really not. It's really nothing more than a dirty, rotten, fancy name for a more familiar condition, to you and me: Cerebral Palsy.

I am who I am with him because he needs me. He can't do this on his own. He's helpless, people won't 'get' him, he's not like everybody else, he's going to struggle! AND? So what? So what if he does fall down? Has he ever not gotten up? So what if he does struggle? Has he ever not tried harder? So what if people don't get him? That's a them problem, not a he problem. Besides, he does have you, and everybody else in his life to help, but he doesn't always need you. 

This is where I struggle, as a dad, where I tend to 'hover', if you will. Too often I fail to remember this is the same child that defied the logic of the neurologist who said he may never develop beyond the mentality of the 2 year-old that we brought home that day. This is the same child whose preschool teacher, Ms. Johnson, challenged us to keep him in general education classes, because he was bright and could succeed, and has become an A/B Honor Roll student. This is the same child who developed a love of basketball and plays in his school league, and shoots, and led his team in steals and gets intense and is a great teammate, another assistant for me on the sideline. So, why is this different? I don't know, it just is...

I'm a pretty smart guy, I get it. I just don't like to admit it. No, I'm not afraid he'll fail miserably and want to come running home for the first time in his life. I'm afraid he won't. I'm afraid of him growing up and losing his dependence on me. I'm afraid of this experience fulfilling a space in his heart and mind that only I used to occupy. I'm afraid this might ultimately be his crossing over into young adulthood; that while this is an incredible opportunity for him to gain independence that he will so desperately need in the years to come, somehow it's going to leave an incredible void in my life. That, for all the things we've fought for, and prayed for, and cheered for and cried for, I don't want him to not need me. I don't want for him to say to me, ever again, "It's okay, dad. I got this." I'm afraid that I'm not ready for 'this'; for camp.

Here's to truly hoping he has the week of his life; that he experiences everything we want, and dont necessarily want, him to experience. Here's to my brave, determined, little guy proving everybody wrong, again. Hello Muddah, Hello Fadduh...somehow I don't believe this is going to be a problem. At least not for him.

Until tomorrow,

Scott