Our son, Holden, recently signed up for a lifeguard course. I was certain that the amount of hours he would have to commit to the course would turn him away. Not to mention that it was being held during the most glorious weekend weather we'd had in months. From 9 a.m. to 5 p.m. each day, his mind was not on Instagram or You Tube video of BMX stunts. No, there was no time for that. He had to be hyper-focused on compressions and breaths and making sure he called out the "tweet-tweet-tweet" of the whistle during his drowning victim scenarios.
Each evening, Holden came home exhausted. We watched him use just enough energy to eat dinner and share a little bit about that day's lesson. He was showered and nestled in his covers earlier than in his toddler years. Part of us felt badly for him. He was missing movie nights, favorite restaurant breakfasts, and the spring-like weather. He would mention it in passing, "It sucks that I can't be riding my bike today." But he never perseverated on it. He knew that sacrificing now would reap rewards in the summer.
What he did do, though, was worry. He worried that he wouldn't remember to elevate a laceration. He worried that he would be sued for not remembering to ask someone permission to treat them. He just plain worried that he would not pass.
In the afternoon, on his final day, he texted me, "I passed the test." I couldn't wait to celebrate with him. I ran into the living room when I heard my husband's car pull up. They walked through the door and I immediately noticed his eyes. He looked the most exhausted I had seen him in days. I joked, "The pool must have been heavy with the chlorine today! Your eyes are so red." He sat his backpack down on the coffee table, turned slowly toward me and said, "That's not why my eyes are red."
My anxiety really started to surface. My face and neck became warm and I could hear my heart pounding all the way in my ears. My husband looked at him and said "Tell mom." Tell mom what? That his eyes were red from smoking a hog leg out by the dumpster with some derelicts? That he got caught? That he was expelled from the class? That I wasted all of my gas driving to and from for five days? But instead of telling me a story about illegal drug use with derelicts, my son sat in front of me and began to cry. And cried hard.
He said the instructor had degraded one of the kids, "Jerry" who wasn't performing the rescues as text book as they should be and wasn't grasping some of the content as quickly. She had been making comments throughout the day, in front of the group of teens like, "No! You messed it up again, Jerry!" or "I had to read the whole test to Jerry". Holden said that he couldn't handle it anymore. He said that he decided in his mind that he would confront the instructor, who was also a supervisor.
When they finished with the class, our son approached Jerry and asked him to come to the office with him to discuss it with the instructor. But the conversation did not replay the way he had rehearsed it so many times in his head. He was not calm. He was not collected. Instead, a mix of emotions came flooding out. He said he thought about Jerry, who walks to and from the pool every day because his mom and dad don't drop him off. He thought about Jerry and how he has to borrow goggles from the pool. He thought about Jerry and how he was always just outside the circle of peers. He thought about Jerry and how the instructor told everyone that his test had to be read aloud to him. He thought about Jerry and he got angry.
With a hot face and angry tears, his voice cracked as he looked directly at the instructor, the supervisor, the one who just certified him, and said "I don't like the way you treat Jerry and I think you should apologize to him." The instructor was taken back. She told Holden that he had only misunderstood and that really, she was just trying to encourage him to do it right the next time. She then apologized to both of the boys.
On the way out the door, Jerry extended his hand to shake our son's. He said "Good looking out, man."
Our son was angry with himself for getting so emotional about the injustice that he resulted to tears. He said that he just couldn't handle one more comment. Then he recalled the real reason he had to say something.
In the Fall, at the Cincinnati Zoo, Holden and my husband witnessed a man berate a Muslim woman and her children. "Americans first!" he said as he jumped in front of her and continued to lash out about her culture and religion. She gripped the handles of her stroller, head held high and calmly responded, "I am an American." Holden and my husband watched this in anger, but did not step in. Fifteen minutes had passed before they had truly processed the event. Then they spent the rest of their time trying to find the Muslim woman with the double stroller. Holden just wanted to tell her, "We don't feel the way that man feels and we want to apologize for him."
For months, my son has been holding on to the fact that he didn't step in, did not call out injustice. And he would not mess it up again.
Each evening, Holden came home exhausted. We watched him use just enough energy to eat dinner and share a little bit about that day's lesson. He was showered and nestled in his covers earlier than in his toddler years. Part of us felt badly for him. He was missing movie nights, favorite restaurant breakfasts, and the spring-like weather. He would mention it in passing, "It sucks that I can't be riding my bike today." But he never perseverated on it. He knew that sacrificing now would reap rewards in the summer.
What he did do, though, was worry. He worried that he wouldn't remember to elevate a laceration. He worried that he would be sued for not remembering to ask someone permission to treat them. He just plain worried that he would not pass.
In the afternoon, on his final day, he texted me, "I passed the test." I couldn't wait to celebrate with him. I ran into the living room when I heard my husband's car pull up. They walked through the door and I immediately noticed his eyes. He looked the most exhausted I had seen him in days. I joked, "The pool must have been heavy with the chlorine today! Your eyes are so red." He sat his backpack down on the coffee table, turned slowly toward me and said, "That's not why my eyes are red."
My anxiety really started to surface. My face and neck became warm and I could hear my heart pounding all the way in my ears. My husband looked at him and said "Tell mom." Tell mom what? That his eyes were red from smoking a hog leg out by the dumpster with some derelicts? That he got caught? That he was expelled from the class? That I wasted all of my gas driving to and from for five days? But instead of telling me a story about illegal drug use with derelicts, my son sat in front of me and began to cry. And cried hard.
He said the instructor had degraded one of the kids, "Jerry" who wasn't performing the rescues as text book as they should be and wasn't grasping some of the content as quickly. She had been making comments throughout the day, in front of the group of teens like, "No! You messed it up again, Jerry!" or "I had to read the whole test to Jerry". Holden said that he couldn't handle it anymore. He said that he decided in his mind that he would confront the instructor, who was also a supervisor.
When they finished with the class, our son approached Jerry and asked him to come to the office with him to discuss it with the instructor. But the conversation did not replay the way he had rehearsed it so many times in his head. He was not calm. He was not collected. Instead, a mix of emotions came flooding out. He said he thought about Jerry, who walks to and from the pool every day because his mom and dad don't drop him off. He thought about Jerry and how he has to borrow goggles from the pool. He thought about Jerry and how he was always just outside the circle of peers. He thought about Jerry and how the instructor told everyone that his test had to be read aloud to him. He thought about Jerry and he got angry.
With a hot face and angry tears, his voice cracked as he looked directly at the instructor, the supervisor, the one who just certified him, and said "I don't like the way you treat Jerry and I think you should apologize to him." The instructor was taken back. She told Holden that he had only misunderstood and that really, she was just trying to encourage him to do it right the next time. She then apologized to both of the boys.
On the way out the door, Jerry extended his hand to shake our son's. He said "Good looking out, man."
Our son was angry with himself for getting so emotional about the injustice that he resulted to tears. He said that he just couldn't handle one more comment. Then he recalled the real reason he had to say something.
In the Fall, at the Cincinnati Zoo, Holden and my husband witnessed a man berate a Muslim woman and her children. "Americans first!" he said as he jumped in front of her and continued to lash out about her culture and religion. She gripped the handles of her stroller, head held high and calmly responded, "I am an American." Holden and my husband watched this in anger, but did not step in. Fifteen minutes had passed before they had truly processed the event. Then they spent the rest of their time trying to find the Muslim woman with the double stroller. Holden just wanted to tell her, "We don't feel the way that man feels and we want to apologize for him."
For months, my son has been holding on to the fact that he didn't step in, did not call out injustice. And he would not mess it up again.
Oh, I love this so much, Iris! You have raised a kind and empathethic young man! Well done, Holden!
ReplyDeleteThank you Ellen!!
DeleteYou have raised a very good young man! My God continue to bless him!
ReplyDeleteThank you Tomi!!
DeleteBeautifully emotional. Holden has a good and compassionate head on his shoulders. Many adults can not even do what this teen did. Stand up for someone else.
ReplyDelete