Ed has been showing his first grade stripes lately. Maneuvering between lunch with other 7-year old boys and dinner the fam has been messy: Ed forgets silverware, tips on his chair, makes armpit noises, and engages in other such behavior. I am not so old that I have forgotten grade school humor — it's just that I never "got" grade-school boy humor then, so I'm having a difficult time appreciating it now. Another thing -- and this thing I have no trouble remembering...what it means to deal with other kids in elementary school. Now, Eddie is a nice kid. A really nice kid. So nice that I think other kids take advantage of him. I think he laughs it off -- maybe blinks away tears -- but brushes himself up and turns the other cheek. But, he comes home and takes it out on his brother. Bob gets pushed, yelled at, and (at worst) ignored by Ed. Ed disdain directed at Bob is particularly hard for me to watch — it physically pains me to watch one boy hurt the other. As a result, my patience with Eddie has been thin lately, even though I know that he comes by his emotions honestly.
So... tonight we read a book together and I suggested The Clown of God. It's been on Ed's shelf for years and I've avoided it. It begins with an orphan boy sleeping in doorways and ends with a old man dead a the foot of a statue of Jesus. A beautiful story, but pretty intense. I thought Eddie needed a good story tonight -- one that was well told and one he hadn't heard before. I'm reading the story and Eddie is silent (aside from the deep nasal breathing he and Bob do when they're concentraing on something.) The end comes, the clown dies, the Christ-child smiles, and Ed leans over to wipe the tears on my cheek. He tries to talk, but he's pretty chocked-up.
I didn't read him the book to make him cry. Honest. I read him the book to make him feel something beyond himself — something beyond goofiness. To remind him (and definitely me) there is always more than what we see.
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That was a very special book at the Brewer's house with the kids and mom! Good idea to read it.
ReplyDeleteI remember my oldest coming home from school tired and cranky. I asked my neighbor about it. She worked at the school. She told me how well behaved he was at school and so it became easier to understand his venting when he got home.
Love, Anne