I hope you’ll excuse this detour from my usual flippancy. I know a blogger is supposed to keep within their brand and not confuse their reader – readers need to know what to expect when they come to your site! But really, isn’t that mentality an insult to your intelligence?  And shit, people, I don’t do drugs, prescription or illicit, so my feelings aren’t repressed, this stuff must get out of me.

As I sit here writing this, Payton and Wally are in his room, disassembling his saltwater tank. His fish and invertebrates are going back to the store to find new homes.

His bookcase full of marine science books have sat practically untouched for…I don’t know exactly. Four months? Longer? I’ve been pretending it isn’t happening so I can’t for certain.

Last week, Payton and I worked at the aquarium, possibly for the last time. He says he doesn’t want to do it anymore, and while we worked, I could tell he was just going through the motions.

When I ask him about teaching in his old kindergarten class during their week of marine biology, he says he doesn’t want to.

(Over-involved mommy gasping for air here! I can’t breathe! Can’t breathe!)

It may sound silly and trivial. But it seems my marine science boy wonder is slowly fading, right underneath my nose. For reasons I can’t put into words, I want to cry.

I know. I know children’s interests come and go, wax and wane, just shut up, Heather. This is normal. Did I really expect him to keep his passion, his drive, his intense love of the ocean from the age of 4 until the day he died?

I don’t know, maybe I did.

I was so envious (in a good way) of him: To utterly love a subject, to be so damn good at it, so effortlessly and organically. To come alive the way the ocean made him come alive – oh yes, I envied that. I needed it also; to see this boy who stayed quiet and withdrawn in so many other ways transform into a vivacious little soul.

So yes, I hoped probably more than usual that it would stay with him, always. Through my writings about Payton and the ocean, I don’t think I’ve conveyed the true depth of the connection. It was something you had to see with your own eyes.

Or was it only my own eyes, tinged by rose-colored glasses?

Dare I admit that I possibly held onto his gift in marine science, grasped it tightly as a defense against those who test him for this, that, or another: Aspergers, PDD-NOS, ADHD, whatever.

More than possibly. That I have done. It was my talisman against the PhD boogeyman. It was my proof that his odd behaviors and characteristics were part of giftedness, not a disorder.

By god, LOOK at this talent! It’s awesome! Inspiring! Near photographic memory! Such dedication! So promising!

I’m honest enough with myself to know this “proof” of giftedness was just as much for me as it was for the boogeyman, if not more. I don’t know whether it was right or wrong to hold onto it so, but parenting an eccentric child when society expects us to produce plastic-molded children, I needed a beacon of light. Raising a child who falls in a gray area between “normal” and “abnormal,” his unmistakable talent was my lighthouse as I floated through the fog.

Now that black marble of doubt has begun clanking and banging against all the white marbles of assurance I’ve managed to collect over the past five years. Maybe all I’ve done is create the most fantastical ruse for myself.

At Christmas, Payton’s departing hugs for family…I won’t describe what he physically did, but it was really odd. I laughed it off at the time and said, “Oh, it’s the French in him!” But really. Who does that? A nine-year-old should know at least semi-appropriate good-byes!

His hypersensitive hearing seems to be growing worse recently, not better. He flat out refuses to attempt indoor P.E., and certain pitches throw him into immediate fits of pain. He can’t flush our toilet at home without covering his ears and running out of the bathroom. He screams in pain if I happen to close the garage door before he is inside the house.

(Should I even admit these things? Do I take out my talisman and shake it at the boogeyman, ward off the evil? I don’t know.)

He has made no new friends this school year. His one friend, the one who protects him and helps smooth his way through social situations, moves away this summer.

(More gasping for air. The fear! The fear he’ll be ostracized and all alone! Who will help protect him from bullies? No one! How awesome am I to make up stories I don’t even know will happen just so I can scare myself!)

I never told you Payton was tested a year ago and didn’t qualify as “gifted.” At least how it’s defined by the school, if you put stock in that. Which I don’t. Not completely. But I am a socialized creature, so there is part of me that does, however small and far back in my mind. He’ll be tested again this month. Why does it make me nervous?

(If he doesn’t get in again, it’s like double proof you’ve been wrong, Heather. And now you don’t have this marine science thing to fall back on! How will you explain his transition issues, his hearing issues…hell, any of his issues?! The school will think you’re crazy, delusional. Maybe you are!)

His exact IQ remains a mystery and I plan to keep it that way, partly because I personally give less and less credit to the medical establishment. And I don’t believe an IQ test can be a true measure of ability. And partly because I’m afraid of being proved wrong.

Funny how one black ball clanking around changes how I play the game, what I look for, what comes into focus.

It’s perspective, it’s all perspective. It’s done unto you as you believe! Perspective! I remind myself.

It’s not like he’s become stupid or anything. His grades are his best ever. He bugs the piss out of me to learn to speak Russian. I guess I need to hunt down someone for private lessons. No baseball or karate for him, thank you very much. It’s Russian and robotics, ha! In many ways he continues to demonstrate his uniqueness.

I think of all the ways Payton has changed me permanently; not just as a mother, but as a human walking this plane. Even if he never comes back to his intense love for marine science, I will never see the ocean the same again. I will never think of sharks the way I did before, I will not abuse the planet the way I did. I cannot look at the water and not be overwhelmed with a sense of love and wonder, all because of him.

I need to remember this is okay too. Whatever he does, marine science wonder or ditch digger, it’s OKAY.

I need to remember the goal is not acronyms behind a name, or a certain number on an IQ test, or accolades from your chosen field, or even imaginary boogeymen.

Nor should the goal be a plastic-molded life.

Isn’t the goal happiness and joy? And the freedom to explore what that means for you?

He is a happy kid.

I suppose my place is to give him the freedom to explore what that means.

Comments are closed, not because I don’t value your input but because I’m not finished. 1239 words are enough for now, no?

This entry was posted on Friday, January 8th, 2010 at 10:06 am and is filed under Gifted Children, Quirky Kid Dossier, This Mom Gig. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Responses are currently closed, but you can trackback from your own site.