Never knowing beforehand.
Hours ago I tossed him a pair of sneakers and a jacket and told him to hurry. He may have been intrigued by the prospect of adventure, I'd hoped he'd take that sort of bait, so what normally would have been a battle took only moments.
The seven o'clock winter blackness engulfed us as we stepped outside. Not knowing beforehand, never knowing beforehand, I took the back of his jacket in my fist and started running.
Last night I'd stood between him and his father, Ossi holding a belt in one hand and a metal shield in the other. I told Matt it was okay and to back off and that I could talk him down. Matt had taken a book away at bedtime and was the enemy of the moment. Ossi pulled a bandana over his mouth and began swinging- not to hit me but surely to intimidate me. When I didn't move he plugged in his new Christmas present, a small plasma globe, and rubbed his hand over it and touched me repeatedly. I felt the string of uncomfortable static shocks and asked if he would please stop. He didn't stop. I stood there, praying for calm.
He finally gave up shocking me and I helped him take his armor off. Over the next two hours I coaxed him into bed, telling him stories, asking him questions, trying to teach him. Never knowing beforehand. What will I do? Will it be safe for me, for him? What will I say? Will it be the right thing? Will it mean anything? Will it reach him? Please let what I say be true, let it be kind, let it be hopeful. And please say that it will lead us to peace. Is that even possible? I've forgotten what it feels like to have peace.
Then we were running today. He quickly realized this was no adventure. Wait, why were we running... I've already forgotten. Some need to expel him from our home, some urgent need to get him away from Finn. A need to stop his meanness from spewing on us, burning Finn with lava, choking us all with ash. Survival instinct, mamma bear. Again, never knowing what to do. I forget to pray while I run- I should have prayed.
My hand is on his back, pushing him forward. He's asking, "Mom, where are we going?" Panic around the edges. I don't talk I just keep pushing. He keeps asking, "what is this about, where are we going?" Then "let me go! You can't make me run."
I know it looks mean. I can see myself from outside eyes and I scream with my mind, "I can explain!" and "you try and do better if you think you're so smart!" and "someone save us!" I keep running because I can't think of anything else. He is pushing back now and it's taking everything I have to move him. I run past the school into the dark playing fields. The ground is wet and my shoes sink into the marsh. Ossi is scared now and I feel viciously victorious and ashamed admitting it to myself.
I let him go and he tries to run home. I'm on him like a defensive basketball player and he's laughing nervously, is this a game? I just keep thinking the one thought that urged me to grab his shoes- he needs exercise. Finally I say it out to him, "we're getting some exercise." See, there is always this moment, every time. I realize that I am hurting him even as I am doing everything in my power to help him. I think he'd be better without me.
I turn toward home. Knowing he can get home alone, knowing he'll be too sacred not to try and catch up to me, knowing I don't want him to catch up to me because I can't be with him any more. I can't let his blame touch me or Matt or Finn.
Storming into the house, "I'm never listening to you again!" Spitting his medicine into his hand after pretending to swallow it. Threatening to move into the woods. Telling me that all the things I'd said the night before were a lie and he knew it all along. One step forward then flat on my back.
Father, how much longer can we do this?
The seven o'clock winter blackness engulfed us as we stepped outside. Not knowing beforehand, never knowing beforehand, I took the back of his jacket in my fist and started running.
Last night I'd stood between him and his father, Ossi holding a belt in one hand and a metal shield in the other. I told Matt it was okay and to back off and that I could talk him down. Matt had taken a book away at bedtime and was the enemy of the moment. Ossi pulled a bandana over his mouth and began swinging- not to hit me but surely to intimidate me. When I didn't move he plugged in his new Christmas present, a small plasma globe, and rubbed his hand over it and touched me repeatedly. I felt the string of uncomfortable static shocks and asked if he would please stop. He didn't stop. I stood there, praying for calm.
He finally gave up shocking me and I helped him take his armor off. Over the next two hours I coaxed him into bed, telling him stories, asking him questions, trying to teach him. Never knowing beforehand. What will I do? Will it be safe for me, for him? What will I say? Will it be the right thing? Will it mean anything? Will it reach him? Please let what I say be true, let it be kind, let it be hopeful. And please say that it will lead us to peace. Is that even possible? I've forgotten what it feels like to have peace.
Then we were running today. He quickly realized this was no adventure. Wait, why were we running... I've already forgotten. Some need to expel him from our home, some urgent need to get him away from Finn. A need to stop his meanness from spewing on us, burning Finn with lava, choking us all with ash. Survival instinct, mamma bear. Again, never knowing what to do. I forget to pray while I run- I should have prayed.
My hand is on his back, pushing him forward. He's asking, "Mom, where are we going?" Panic around the edges. I don't talk I just keep pushing. He keeps asking, "what is this about, where are we going?" Then "let me go! You can't make me run."
I know it looks mean. I can see myself from outside eyes and I scream with my mind, "I can explain!" and "you try and do better if you think you're so smart!" and "someone save us!" I keep running because I can't think of anything else. He is pushing back now and it's taking everything I have to move him. I run past the school into the dark playing fields. The ground is wet and my shoes sink into the marsh. Ossi is scared now and I feel viciously victorious and ashamed admitting it to myself.
I let him go and he tries to run home. I'm on him like a defensive basketball player and he's laughing nervously, is this a game? I just keep thinking the one thought that urged me to grab his shoes- he needs exercise. Finally I say it out to him, "we're getting some exercise." See, there is always this moment, every time. I realize that I am hurting him even as I am doing everything in my power to help him. I think he'd be better without me.
I turn toward home. Knowing he can get home alone, knowing he'll be too sacred not to try and catch up to me, knowing I don't want him to catch up to me because I can't be with him any more. I can't let his blame touch me or Matt or Finn.
Storming into the house, "I'm never listening to you again!" Spitting his medicine into his hand after pretending to swallow it. Threatening to move into the woods. Telling me that all the things I'd said the night before were a lie and he knew it all along. One step forward then flat on my back.
Father, how much longer can we do this?
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