Growing Edges
alexa lopezArchive for Kids
Better Kid than I Was
Our oldest son turns 13 this week.
When I turned 13, I had already partaken of cigarettes (although I didn’t keep smoking them because they made me barf). Before 13, regardless whether I lived with my dad or my mom, my friends and I were sneaking out at 1:00 AM and walking to the high school to get drunk under the bleachers. We wandered around in the dark of night, being stupid.
I was such an angry person back then that I even mouthed off to my teachers and didn’t care about my grades. I hated my life, and I therefore didn’t care about others.
My neighbor across the street was a smug classmate whose smugness made me fume. So at my 13th birthday party, which was a slumber party, we waited for my mom to go do her bowling thing, and in the dark of night we took most of her Avon inventory and vandalized my neighbor’s beige house with reds and pinks and purples… Yeah, I did that.
Reggie has been anticipating this birthday for more than the mere reason that he’s turning 13, which is a big deal in itself. He is excited that he is turning 13 on the 13th, which happens to be Friday the 13th. He sees this as a sign that it’s going to be a fantastic birthday.
“Mom, can I have a couple of friends over for my Golden Birthday?” (That’s what he’s calling it).
“Sure. I’ll get to working on that,” I answered.
He knows me so well that when I say “Sure, I’ll get to that,” I forget to “get to that.”
It’s called poor mental spatial organization. Or something.
So when he heard, “Sure…” from me, he started planning his “having a couple of friends over” because he knew he’d either have to remind me numerous times to “get to that,” or that he would have to do it himself.
Which is what he did.
At first I was confused by the RSVP phone calls I started receiving. “Reggie, what are these kids RSVP-ing about?”
“My birthday party,” he answered. “I made invitations on the computer.”
“How many people are coming over?”
“Six. And they’re spending the night.” My eyes popped out of my head and dropped to the floor.
Selfish Alexa is thinking: “I have to work at 4:30 AM on Saturday, so how is that going to work with six extra boys in my home on Friday night? And when did I say Reggie could invite six boys to spend the night? And where does he expect them to sleep? And we don’t have an extra room or family room for them to have to themselves, so how do I make this fun for them? And what about Asaph, who will likely feel left out because his big brothers will be hanging out with their buddies?”I was annoyed that he went forward without consulting me along the way…
…until I realized how proud I am of him that he planned this very well, very methodically. He even told his friends not to bring video games rated “T” or above because of his little brothers…
…and until I remembered what crap I was pulling when I was his age.
I have to make this work. For Reggie.
I must not allow our “limitations” — spatial or otherwise — to mar what is a big day and a major step for him.
I’m proud of my boy….Ahem, I mean, my young man.
Oh, and we were busted for the vandalism. After my friends went home, I got to spend the whole weekend trying to get all those beautiful colors off our neighbor’s house.
© Alexa Lopez, 2009
Toilet Terrors
~~ Our daughter gave me permission to tell this story. Thanks, “Sis,” for being able to laugh about it now. ~~
I had some wacky, unreasonable fears as a child.
One of those was my fear of the toilet clogging. I guess I was convinced that a clogged toilet would overflow and flood the house and we would all drown. Unreasonable fear.
So I would finish my business, wash my hands, open the door, then flush the toilet and run for my life. I did this everytime I used the toilet and, of course, outgrew it at some point.
Our second daughter had the same fear.
‘Saja feared a flushing toilet…not the sound, but the possibility of it clogging and her being trapped there, next to it.
When she was six, her aunt took us to Disneyland and she was in one of the bathroom stalls FOREVER. Then I heard her crying, and I became concerned.
“What’s wrong, Honey? Are you sick?” I asked.
Through choked sobs she answered, “I…can’t…get…off…the…toilet.”
“What? Why?” I’m thinking someone put superglue on the seat or something.
“The toilet’s going to flush by itself.” It was one of those sensor/self-flushing toilets. In her mind, she was trapped because if she got off the toilet seat, it would flush and she would die before I could rescue her from the flood.
I giggled at the horrible irony of this. She couldn’t get off the toilet to open the stall so I could set up her escape, and she didn’t want to be in there when it flushed. My memory of the dilemma ends there. I know we got her out alive.
That same year, she was in the bathtub and one of her younger brothers needed to use the toilet, so she closed the curtain for the sake of both their privacy. From the living room we heard an alarming scream and panicked cries for help. Richard and I sprinted down the hall to see the bathroom door open, her brother hopping around in a panic, his eyes wide with fear, and pointing into the bathroom; we expected to see a bloody headwound from a slip in the tub or something.
‘Saja’s worst fear had happened. She was trapped in the bathtub while the toilet, which stood between the her and the door, overflowed. Her brother had used too much toilet paper and clogged it. The expression of sheer terror on her face gripped my heart. “Oh, dear Lord,” I prayed. “Of all the people in the house this could have happened to, it had to be her.”
After things had settled down I had the chance to revisit it with her. “Hey, you know what? Your biggest fear happened today. And you survived it.”
She is fourteen now. I just noticed today that she has outgrown that fear…to the extent that when the toilet clogs (thank you, little brothers), she’s the first one to get the plunger.
When did that happen?
That’s my girl.
© Alexa Lopez, 2009
