Normally my blog is strictly business but these are not normal times so I’m departing from the usual on this post.
The subject of this story as the waterboy for his brother’s lacrosse team. Photo by Steve Spooner.
I saw it out of the corner of my eye and I’m certain he didn’t notice my reaction. I had spent the better part of the day cleaning, quarantine cleansing as it’s called, little bits of his childhood dragged to the curb in the form of obsolete television sets, broken nerf guns and long outgrown lacrosse cleats. I was walking the dog in our neighborhood when he neared from behind in the Suburban he’d reluctantly adopted as his own at age 16. He approached slowly and I know this because a decade old Suburban is not quiet. He waved. And not just a head nod; he produced an actual wave as he maneuvered a wide, respectful swerve, his facial expression revealing the slightest hint of something unfamiliar as he passed.
True, it may have been the dog that induced this trace of emotion from the stoic and often reticent 19-year-old. But I think it was something different. To me it looked like affection.
His freshman year, the part completed on campus anyway, was less than stellar in nearly every sense. Mama H’s “I don’t feel good kit,” his most clever high school graduation gift, was depleted prematurely. Monthly trips to student health and the nearest Little Clinic resulted in diagnoses of sinus infections, viruses, strep throat, pink eye, and culminated in the biggie — mono. Challenged to keep up academically in a competitive program, first semester was a bust and his scholarship was left in limbo. With spring break plans cancelled by overly cautious parents before social distancing was in fashion, he was then forced, along with a nation of peers, to complete freshman year from his childhood bedroom with pitiful wifi and not a sibling in sight.
Despite my overly simplistic recap of the first 2/3rds of his freshman year — my measurement of success had been good grades and good health — I realized I should not discount the fact that he had found community in college, found meaningful friendships, got along with his roommates and basically thrived from a social and mental health standpoint. His thriving despite grade struggles and health issues is a testament to his resiliency. And a reminder to me that my expectations needed to shift, that my definition of success for him is not an accurate or fair measurement.
The last thing on Earth he wanted was to return home early to the scene of high school and of a nagging mother who expected too much and forgave too little.
Stuck at home, with the flexibility of asynchronous learning (who knew that was even a thing?) and nowhere to be, something changed. This was no longer his senior year in high school, spent quarantined in his bedroom by choice with parent interaction being something he took unparalleled lengths to avoid. With our routines completely upended, forced to look inward for sources of entertainment and encouragement, we created a new normal with less room for negativity. As all parents of college students can attest, living away promotes maturity and absence surely makes the heart grow fonder at least as far as parents are concerned, but he returned prematurely. We were just getting into the rhythm of empty nesterhood, our prized vinyl collection hadn’t even fully debuted.
Poking through the pile at end of the driveway, he uncovered a pair of old hockey skates and the discarded lacrosse helmet his brother had backed over in the driveway years ago. It sparked a conversation, mainly about sports but as a mom of three boys I’ll take what I can get. We reminisced and I apologized. And in the absence of distraction, in the middle of a worldwide pandemic, we healed. He came out of his room, he interacted with us, told us stories of college, shared his opinions and sometimes listened to ours. We created a new community, just the three of us. Sure, it was out of necessity and I don’t pretend for a minute he wouldn’t rather be at school with his friends, but somehow two parents and one not so young child let go of expectations and past misgivings and created something new.
Am I ready for our stay-at-home order to be lifted? Sure I am…but can we please have a few more weeks?