Last summer for his 5th birthday, G wished he could be six when he blew out the candles. His wish is getting closer to coming true as kindergarten is a mere week-and-a-half from being over. Next thing I know, we'll be planning the big '0-6' party.
Kindergarten being what it is, a cesspool of disease smeared by dirty little hands, snotty noses and un-guarded sneezes that, amazingly, can cross a room at remarkable speed for coming out of such small barrels, has had it's moments where I thought this year would never end.
I've been anxious for the last year to end too. There has been some disagreement as to what makes a year in our house. A: January - December , or B: 12 continuous months . I choose B because it can start from any chosen moment and life is too short to wait 8 months to start trying to get out of a bad groove simply because of a twelve pack of numbered pages hanging on the fridge. We've been close in years past, but every year something goes wrong and somebody breaks something or somebody has a surgery that turns into two or three more to fix whatever went wrong in the first one..
So this year, the one where the Newmaforma manages 12 months free of hospital stays, surgeries, screws, pins, casts or sedation finally happened a few weeks ago. Our first Hospital free year since September of '06. I wanted to celebrate but...black cats, walking under latters and all, kept me more cautious than joyful.
The party balloons popped sooner than later. A kid at school gets sick, then 5. A week later half the grade school is absent and a note comes from the principal explaining that Parvovirus is not just for dogs. Further research reveals that Parvo in humans, Parvovirus B19, is commonly called Fifths disease and is normal for kids to get and less so for adults. If a K9 and kid virus is rare for adults, A is certain to take it to a new level.
Words like 'rare', 'uncommon',' unique' are peppered throughout A's medical history. Of course the recent pricks, swabs and prods have left the local medical community scratching their heads. This shit is off the hook. A called one of her specialists who led her back to the E.R. Now her throat's so swollen and painful she's spitting saliva out into a coffee mug instead of swallowing it. She can't talk so she texts me like a teen-age girl. The fever is unrelenting and she only sleeps in fits every few hours day or night. This virus she's hosting only fed itself on little kids as an appetizer and has turned to A to show its monster-self for the real meal.
Maybe we've moved on from invasive treatments, but the girl raised in Africa is getting her ass kicked by domestic kindergarten germs.
My 'How To' book on building the perfect athlete has run into some snags. Publishers expect three completed chapters before handing out advance funding. I have notes on scratch paper that work out to roughly three sentences. Add that I have learned my thesis doesn't jive with my chicken scratch, scribbled notes and I'm sunk.
Problems began to surface when faced with having to repeat a level of swim lessons. Casual observation found that even the phenom kids have to double up on a few classes because they aren't big enough for classes designed for older kids that are simply more physically mature.
No problem, I thought, If G has to skip every other class or two, he'll still be on track to score a scholarship in time for me to retire early.
As you may recall, there was trouble from the get-go. In the following days, his drive, resiliency and desire to do anything but go to bed, led to extra training in the bathtub and success in conquering his fears. This single mindedness to push through, to keep training despite sacrificing story time books or (highly edited) bedside tales of dad's youth paid off. Just as the great Rocky Balboa conquered winter in Siberia in the 1985 Boxumentary Rocky IV, G was not deterred by pruned toes and fingers while mastering full-head-submersion bubble blowing. Nothing makes a parent more proud than a naked kid with a pair of swim goggles being occupied for an hour. When I shared my pride of his accomplishment his only question was, Do I get a trophy?
The clear desire for a trophy is good. Eventually he'll realize that trophies are worthless and the heads break off when they're stored in shoe boxes at your parents house while you chase your dream and couch surf around the country. By then he'll learn that athletic success is about money. He'll practice free throws and three pointers with the goal of buying his parents a gigantic house high on a hill above the rows of McMansions that all the poor people like doctors and lawyers live in.
So we signed up for a school sponsored basketball camp. Whatever it takes to get through winter right? A dozen kindergarteners, bouncing balls in a wood floored echo chamber while you sit with a bunch of moms staring at iphones is about the best way a parent can show their child unconditional love.
Basketball has a lot of nuances, rules and details that 5-year olds might not get. Dribbling, pivoting, passing, offense/defense and generally the whole game are some of the things that may fly past a kid this age much like a basketball itself being passed.
We practiced dribbling at home in the garage for 5 minutes one night until G got bored with it. I added a bounce pass and a straight to the chest pass on different nights with the same result.
Dad, instead of basketball, can we box?
Dad, can you bolt my bike to your rollers?
Dad, can we build a jump for our bikes in the garage for when its raining outside and you won't take me to the Lumberyard like right now?
Basketball wasn't seeming to 'take'. Until they learned about blocking an opponent. This brought the physical aspect of the game to his attention. G likes a challenge. The adrenaline rush of direct competition. Mano a mano. At first when blocking, all the kids looked like they were just doing jumping jacks. G changed that up one Saturday when he curled his fingers like claws above his head, made a scowl to drive fear into the ball holding opponent and growled like a bear. The other kid just passed the ball around the grizzly in a Lakers jersey.
I'm a bear! Are you scared? G asked
No. The other kid says.
Oh.
Gavin?! What are you doing? Coach interjects.
I was blocking like you told us. But I was a Bear. I was gonna be a Dinosaur but their arms are too short to hold the ball.
Coach walks away.
A week later, G finds himself blocking his opponent who has the ball, but this time he doesn't act like an animal. The other kid dribbles the ball and fakes left. Gavin follows. The kid starts to go right and G opts for the flying kick. For real.
The other kid waits for him to land on the ground, dribbles around him, shoots, misses and a teammate gets the ball and actually makes the basket. G is back up and now well out of bounds doing karate chops and round house kicks to his shadow against the folded up bleachers.
doesn't care he has to repeat...again!
In the meantime we are continuing with swim lessons. When I ask G what he likes best of his current activities: swimming, basketball or riding bikes, he says, Swimming and bikes. I like swimming because it's like I can fly underwater. I like riding bikes because I'm as fast as a Cheetah.
I can't argue with those motivators so I make a mental note that high speed sports are what he likes. I should probably buy a Ducati. Then the swim teacher tells me that the class that he is repeating, he'll have to repeat again. The first repeat was because he kicked his legs as if he was pedaling a bike. Now it's because he doesn't extend his arms with his strokes. The coach says it looks like he's punching the water.
So I ask; Your not moving your arms like swim coach is trying to teach you. What's that about?
I'm punching the water.
Why?
Because it's bad.
Why is the water bad?
Well, I can't breath when I'm underwater, and if I take the goggles off it burns my eyes. And it smells funny and you and mom make me take a bath to wash it off as soon as we get home.
So we're back to riding bikes. I can handle that. 'How To' books are boring anyway. Over-bearing Parent books sell better.
Two and a half years is a long time for a relationship and I admit that first grade is kind of young for commitment. I thought we were doomed when both our mom's said you couldn't invite me to sleep-over for your birthday. Mom's ruin everything fun. We managed through that though.
I really liked walking to and from school with you through the park. I wasn't really protecting you from the other boys throwing pomegranates. They were shooting at me all along. And they did have pretty good aim. Swinging with you on the tire swing was the best. It felt kind of weird but it was my favorite part except when we had a magnifying glass to burn bark and stuff with.
I blame August for breaking us up. My mom said I couldn't invite myself over to your house to swim EVERY day. Sometimes it was way too hot to play at the park. I forgot to invite you when Joey and Alejandro came over to build Lego stuff. We made a giant bridge once from my room to the rat cage in my sisters' room. Did you know if you hold a rat upside down it's tail spins like a helicopter?
Don't you remember our first date? I planned ahead and wrote down what I would order us to eat. I used the McDonald Dollars I got for Christmas. The tickets to the circus cost every penny I made from stuffing mailboxes with flyers for the real-estate guy. I had to steal some of my brothers' quarters too. I put like 50 flyers in your mailbox. You told me that was romantic.
I could hardly wait for school to start. I missed seeing you every day. I was going to tell you that but you hung up on me before I could say it. Alejandro said my Ronald McDonald voice was perfect. Joey laughed so hard he peed his pants when we were doing pretend voices. I was surprised you got so mad.
I built a cardboard glider in hopes of flying from my roof to your house to apologize. When I tested it from the backyard fence I crashed. My mom said it wouldn't fly, but what does she know about airplanes? I had to try. Why I didn't just ride my bike over, or call you again, I don't know. You dumping me was a total over-reaction. Just like my sister anytime my dad tells her what to do.
My mom said that maybe because we were going to be in different classrooms you wanted a fresh start. She said that sometimes when you love someone you let them go and if they come after you it's true love. She said that when my dog Reepicheep ran away and I chased after her for a mile and got lost in the other neighborhood before I finally caught her, that that's how Reepicheep knew I loved her. I think Reepicheep just wanted to run away, but what do moms know?
Seeing you walk away from me and toward a different classroom the first day of school I thought would be the worst. It wasn't. The worst was today when all the kids in my class paraded around the classroom handing out Valentines'. The only ones I got from girls were totally generic and when I asked Kelly and Tonya if what they wrote to me was special, they both said no; that their moms' insisted they write one for everyone.
My brother said that the smart kids get separated from the dumb kids in 3rd grade and that is why we aren't in the same class anymore. I don't think your dumb, I just think it was dumb that you dumped me just for pretending I was Ronald McDonald when I called you. And it was dumb that you didn't even think I was Ronald McDonald, because my Ronald voice sounds just like his on t.v. Even my mom thought so.
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