Facing Goliath (Part II)

...Eli chose that very moment to cry. Saved by your brother, I thought. Yaya hurriedly shepherded Woog inside, her anxious eyes on me, lest I do damage to her precious charge.

Yet as I sat nursing the baby, a great heavy sadness settled somewhere in the region of my chest. What was happening here? Woog was by nature a mischeivous litle imp, but he had never displayed any willful destructiveness. In his sweetness, he never went out of his way to hurt other people. His heart was in a good place. Or was it?

After a time, he approched me. “Mommy, I love you.”

My heart wanted to melt, but I kept the mask of my stone-face on. Inwardly aching, I watched as my son wilted before my eyes. I was determined not to be a pushover in disciplining my children.

The next day, more disappointment was in store for us. Atch and I paid a visit to Woog's teacher. Miss Mae sighed heavily as she related how Woog frequently disrupted the class, wouldn't answer his seatwork, and refused to copy his assignments. Apparently, he also had the attention span of a gnat. She was stretching her patience, really she was, but she was nearing the end of her rope. It was never mentioned, but the specter of ADHD floated around our heads.

Have you ever felt that kind of helplessness as when your orderly world was falling down around your ears? I felt exactly like that that day. I'd take on work problems, financial worries, even a perenially busy and distracted husband, but please please please, don't let there be anything wrong with my kids...

It hit me then, right there, that perhaps I should stop thinking of all of this as happening to me. Maybe Woog wasn't problem. Maybe he was trying to tell us something. Only he didn't have the words.

Hysterical. My son, who on default mode has “palpitation of the tongue”, didn't have the words.

Atch and Miss Mae were looking at me strangely, and I realized that I had chortled out loud.

I think I know why Woog's not himself these days, I said. I really think he's behaving this way because he's had a lot of major changes thrown his way in the span of what? Two months?

A look of understanding dawned on Atch's face. Miss Mae asked me to elaborate.

Well, for one, he's started the schoolyear with a new teacher. Then he's had a new brother to bump him off his status as “baby of the house”. The following month, we moved to a new apartment. And, oh he has his own room now, too. He wasn't even allowed a transition period. Poor Woog. And to think he's only four years old.

Guilty thoughts flooded my mind of Woog creeping into our room in the dead of the night, begging to sleep with us. And his short-tempered sleepless mother sending him out because he might wake the baby. Damn me to hell and back for alienating my own son.

He's a David, facing Goliath. Several Goliaths. All at once. And to think that he never once went all-out-demented-berserk on us. I know I would have.

Miss Mae nodded. She had guessed as much. We discussed the ways in which to make Woog feel important again. She would try to give him more attention in school, as well.

Aren't pre-school teachers wonderful? They're approachable, sympatheric, proactive, and most importantly, totally focused on the kids they teach. For myself who went to school when corporal punishment was the norm, and for Atch who'd never even been to pre-school, Miss Mae and her ilk were a revelation of sorts. And a very wonderful one at that.

And so we headed home lost in our own thoughts. Thoughts which featured us hitting ourselves over the heads for being so clueless to what was happening with our son. Atch & I exchanged cringing glances. Poor Woog. He was raw and hurting from our indifference, uncertain of his status in our lives. It was up to us to equip him with the stones to slay the Goliaths he was facing. Time for us to blanket him with the support he was seeking, and which he truly deserved.

We headed home, resolving to love our son. Really love him. And hopefully, he'll turn out to be a mighty David some day.

August 2006