Hard to be the quiet one
Went to Y's school performance today. Messed up on the camcorder, of course, and failed to record his speaking part. Sigh. He was a bit nervous and put his hand on his hat as he spoke.
After the hour-long show, students and parents mingled in the gym to view the children's work. We took pictures of the diorama and his writings. He posed with his teacher. I asked him questions, and we walked around. Still people did not disperse, and we had a lot of time to kill. I noticed Y wasn't interacting with classmates much. Not that anyone came to talk to me either. But the loneliness was staring me in the eyes. Perhaps I was making things worse, trying to small talk to Y, and putting on my high-pitched, overly exuberant, spunky self. What's wrong with being alone?
What's wrong with not being the center of that small universe?
What's wrong being alone and not being part of something else?
What's wrong with not having lots of friends on hand, or being part of that crowd?
Those are the questions I had to ask myself.
His aloneness made me anxious.
Because I was like that.
And I wish I wasn't?
I, too, had friends.
But occasionally, when a group event came around, they were usually already somewhere else, and with other people.
And I for one, couldn't bring myself to join in.
I, too, wanted to be included but didn't know how, and did not have the confidence that I could approach without being looked at, or frowned upon.
I did not want the experience of people walking away from me.
So I stayed out.
The juxtaposition of being in the crowd but looking in is a painful one.
One that needed no reminders, one that I wanted to cease.
Certainly it was not something I wanted to see in my son.
But the pain lives on...
I think I need to stop adding more pressure to my kid.
I need to stop giving him a load of my expectations of what I don't want myself to be.
It is already hard and lonely as it is,
for a quiet kid who is but out there.
After the hour-long show, students and parents mingled in the gym to view the children's work. We took pictures of the diorama and his writings. He posed with his teacher. I asked him questions, and we walked around. Still people did not disperse, and we had a lot of time to kill. I noticed Y wasn't interacting with classmates much. Not that anyone came to talk to me either. But the loneliness was staring me in the eyes. Perhaps I was making things worse, trying to small talk to Y, and putting on my high-pitched, overly exuberant, spunky self. What's wrong with being alone?
What's wrong with not being the center of that small universe?
What's wrong being alone and not being part of something else?
What's wrong with not having lots of friends on hand, or being part of that crowd?
Those are the questions I had to ask myself.
His aloneness made me anxious.
Because I was like that.
And I wish I wasn't?
I, too, had friends.
But occasionally, when a group event came around, they were usually already somewhere else, and with other people.
And I for one, couldn't bring myself to join in.
I, too, wanted to be included but didn't know how, and did not have the confidence that I could approach without being looked at, or frowned upon.
I did not want the experience of people walking away from me.
So I stayed out.
The juxtaposition of being in the crowd but looking in is a painful one.
One that needed no reminders, one that I wanted to cease.
Certainly it was not something I wanted to see in my son.
But the pain lives on...
I think I need to stop adding more pressure to my kid.
I need to stop giving him a load of my expectations of what I don't want myself to be.
It is already hard and lonely as it is,
for a quiet kid who is but out there.
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