The Truth Hurts-I May Be a Liability

Another summer morning on Peaks. 10-year-old Oaks is pottering away his time jumping on the trampoline. He is doing front flips, back flips, rodeo’s and the like, elevating himself 12 feet in the air in a way that seems almost controlled. This is nothing new. He jumps around like a flea all day long. He can do back flips even when off the trampoline; he can do handsprings, run downhill on jumping stilts, launch himself into the air on skis off huge jumps and pogo stick until the cows come home. He is never still.

When we moved to Peaks Island after eight years away (we lived here before Oakley was born), I went to the police station to give them the heads-up that I didn’t always sanction his reckless activities, and that they should feel free to stop him if he seemed to be acting in a dangerous or out of bounds manner. I am not embarrassed to ask for help. He seems to have no fear and we have always needed others to be his conscience for him. He needs everybody to be his Jiminy Cricket.

On this particular morning, Twain and I were gathering a few last-minute things to outfit ourselves for a quick trip to town on the ferry while our 15-year-old son Jonah babysat Oaks. We ran through the house grabbing keys, sunglasses, wallets, and phones in the final moments before we would have to run for the ferry. Just then, a neighbor came by with a gift for Oaks. He wanted to bestow on him his old “giraffe” unicycle. It measured six feet from the bottom of the wheel to the seat. I had never seen one so tall. ( I think this man might be a full-grown Oaks in his own right.) He presented the bike with a Cheshire-like grin, knowing that the giving of this gift to a kid like Oaks was at once terribly generous and terribly mischievous. I shuttered at the thought of yet another high stakes activity entering our lives, but I thanked the neighbor just the same. Oaks was beside himself. He smiled from ear to ear and cradled it in his arms like a long-lost lover. Suddenly, I was torn about going into town. Oaks + Six-foot unicycle + No supervision = Disaster. But, we had to go. “Jonah, don’t let him touch it until we get back!” we admonished. “Oaks, we will be home in two hours. Just wait!” He nodded. We ran for the ferry. God, am I a slow learner.

When we returned home to Peaks barely two hours later, who should come careening down the hill to the ferry dock, flopping his arms and wiggling his butt desperately trying to maintain balance on this gargantuan unicycle but Oaks himself. He was covered in sweat with a look of intense concentration on his face. He had no helmet, no wrist guards, no sense. Cars edged down the road beside him trying their best to stay out of his fall line. He was so proud.

As a parent what am I to do? Do I yell at him for not listening and causing me to live in a constant state of high alert, or do I smile at him and admit that I am incredibly proud of his abilities? This kid struggles academically; he has zero to no executive-functioning skills; he struggles to relate socially at times, but he is kinesthetically gifted. I used to live with my heart in my throat watching him catapult through life until I became numb. Other parents would shriek when they saw him fly through the air as he practiced a trick. His favorite was to climb onto a railing or fence post, and then launch himself into a back-flip and (usually) land on his feet. I realized that I was helpless. I had to shut off. Becoming numb was a survival tactic for me. I just can’t be scared all the time.

Then there is me. I am NOT a natural athlete. I am 157 pounds of cozy. I like to be active, but I am by no means gifted. I run, slowly. I can’t jump. Really, not at all. I have had varicose vein surgery twice. Gravity and I love each other. I think I can launch myself two inches, maybe three. I can’t do a pull-up, never have. I stink at catching baseballs and can’t throw a frisbee. I hate yoga. I should love it, I know, but I don’t. Sometimes I make myself do it because it is the right thing to do, but it is so uncomfortable. I have no kinetic sense and often bumble through life. My posture sucks; my back resembles a camel’s hump. I have no depth perception, due to an eye injury. You should see me try to put toothpaste on my toothbrush. I believe this is why I sometimes live vicariously through Oakley.

It is time to begin to get in shape. I am going to spend this season trying to get this body back in line. I have grown soft and feel tired much of the time. That might be the age 50 whispering in my ear. I can’t listen yet.

This trip is going to take a lot out of me, but I do have heart and I do keep going. I have endurance. I have been told that I may not be not light on my feet but that I am a good hauler. So I will haul myself across the country, chasing Oaks and trying not to have my heart in my throat.