Kid.
We named him Anthony Jr but he really should have been named Franky Jr.
Why is he so much like me?
He is so beautifully, painfully… like me.
I love him and worry about him equally. I must also mention that as he’s gotten older my fears have subsided with his consistent progress in certain areas. For example, he is less senstive and more understanding. He’s just a growing boy I suppose, but to me… its such a wonder; just a blazing spectacle of glory much like a sunrise, watching my kid grow.
Today I had a meeting at his school to talk about his progress and what he & I need to work on to get him where he needs to be academically. He is “so strong in math,” said his wonderful human sunbeam of a teacher Mrs. Ziegelmeier. “He is so capable! He just needs to be here,” …words that resonate with me as I reflect on how poorly I’ve done this school year with getting him to school. I spent so many days, so so so many days depressed or stuck in a situation I could have avoided that prevented Kid from getting to school. He’s had enough absenses this year to last his entire elementary experience. I could go on beating myself up but I’m going to stop myself there. I’m going to do better. As far as Kid goes, he’s going to do better too, we all know it. He’s getting there. His main problem is what my main problem at that age was as well;
D A Y D R E A M I N G
That wonderful freedom of the mind to which I have often have found myself a slave to. Its like I want to focus, I want to get things done, I want to remember to make that call or drop that off, or pick that up or fix that thing. But instead I’ve imagined dozens of times throughout the day for long periods of time what it would be like if I had super powers or what heaven could look like or my house when I become successful or what the boys will be like when they’re older. A daydream could literally be as deep as a long over-due self realization to a good memory played over and over again on repeat to a fantasy to a picture or a poem that invites itself into my mind spreading its body across both sides of my brain not leaving much room for any thoughts vital to where I am or what I’m supposed to be doing. It could last anywhere from 1 minute to 3 hrs. My imagination is literally in charge of my mental activity.
This is me on line at Walgreens…
Same goes for kid. But he’ll be just fine, I know he will because I am. Even with all of my flaws and short comings, I love who I am. I love how smart I am, how quirky, how confident, how fun and inquisitive, I love how creative I am and how nothing can stop me from achieving something… nothing. I plow through obstacles like the snow plow outside my window is crashing through the helpless layer of unsuspecting snow on the ground. Slowly but surely, Kid is learning to do the same. I just need to help pull him down from the clouds more often, as sorry as I am to do it.
Sometimes I sincerely wish that we can live that way; in constant ponder of all things. I’d like to travel the world, just a few philosophical nomads, my terror squad and I. A girl can dream right?
raisingfranky 