Our eldest son just turned 11. In many ways, he's like me and my wife: reserved and thoughtful. Outside the house, he's always been quiet, shy, and insular. Like me, he observes from the sidelines, bides his time, considers his options. He's not a frivolous child.
So we were rather surprised when he came home from school this week brimming with news: he had decided to run for student council.
A year ago, he wouldn't have stepped forward. Even six months ago, he would have been content to remain on the sidelines. But not now. He came through the door rattling off ideas for boosting school spirit, and making his school a better place for students and teachers.
On a purely logical level, it was nothing I hadn't heard time and again during my own journey through elementary school. But now it was my son saying it. And the fact that he had never previously had the guts to step forward made this seem - at least to me - a defining moment in his life.
He sat beside my wife at the computer as she patiently helped him craft his speech. I chimed in with the occasional editorial suggestion to punch it up, but the ideas were all his. My wife made a couple of posters for him. After what seemed like an extended period of brainstorming and creative activity, his campaign package was ready.
We discussed best practices for delivering his speech, and coached him through a couple of dry runs. He had given a brief talk a couple of weeks ago in front of 350 people at the community centre, and I think it was that experience that may have lit the public speaking fire in him. We were immensely proud of him then, and we were immensely proud of him as he carefully packed up his stuff and left it in the front hall before heading up to bed.
Fast forward to today: the tears as he got home told all the story we needed to know. He wasn't elected. In a halting, hauntingly sad voice, he recounted how another child who hadn't prepared a speech or a poster was allowed to run. His teacher had earlier laid out the ground rules, one of which was the need for at least one poster and a speech. When Zach challenged the teacher after the fact, all he got was a set of shrugged shoulders.
Part of me wanted to undo the obviously unfair way it all played out. Another part of me wanted to go over to said teacher's house and share my unfiltered thoughts with him. Zach had done everything by the book, even taking the time to support other friends who were running for council. That's just the way he is; good to the core, always thinking about his friends before considering his own needs.
That the outcome wasn't fair was a given. That it was facilitated by a trusted teacher was - and is - in my view unforgivable. But it was what it was, and my wife and I couldn't change the outcome no matter how much we wished we could.
Pizza was hastily ordered as a form of pseudo-comfort food for a sad young man. I took him with me when we went to pick it up. The crying had stopped, but his voice seemed oddly fragile, as if he had gotten younger in the intervening hours. In the darkened car, I repeated, endlessly, how proud we were of him, how glad we were that he stepped forward, stuck his neck out, took a chance. We spoke about how some of the world's most spectacular successes were preceded by even more spectacular failures. We spoke about some of my own failures, and how I applied what I had learned from each one to whatever I did in future.
In the end, he enjoyed his pizza, and we tucked him in with still another reinforcing story and extra hugs for good measure.
Today, we watched our son get bruised by life. It won't be his last experience, and in that he's becoming just like anyone else on this planet. But he's our son, and it felt oddly unsettling to not be able to step in and just make it right.
He grew today, and we couldn't be more proud of him.
Note: Although I haven't identified any of the protagonists by name, I'm fully aware that anyone can read this and make the connection. That's one of the pitfalls of using my real name on my blog. If said folks surf on in and feel uncomfortable after reading this, so be it. I write for a living. My words get out there. And if it bothers the people about whom I (anonymously) write that their behavior came under the scrutiny of my pen, they're eminently free to comment here or start their own web log. I refuse to self-censor out of fear of offending those whose own conduct falls short of the bar we teach our own kids to target.
Your turn: If you're a parent, how do you cushion them on days like today?