It’s easy being angry at injustice. It feels right, especially when it’s a cause greater than yourself. I can channel all my rage and anger into beating my fists against the walls of inequality, knowing I’ve put enough of myself into it when the blood runs freely down my fingers.
Humor comes easily, too. It would be impossible to put one foot in front of the other if I gave in to the feeling of defeat. You can’t make me cry. I’m able to find humor in the most unlikely situations, and the darkest of places. Laugh with me, friend. We will lose ourselves if we become too serious.
What’s not easy is pain. Pushing the words “I hurt” past my throat feels like giving away a part of myself. No. That’s not even right. It’s like…like I just trusted you with the most vulnerable part of myself and hoped you wouldn’t drop it and break it.
I had no business being surprised by the results of the state testing. No matter how much I shore up the dam of emotions, they just seem to spill out around the edges.
It doesn’t mean anything. Life isn’t about how well you do on tests. Not everyone tests well. It’s only a snapshot, of that moment on that day.
Still, I hurt.
(It’s less gut-wrenching to type it, than to say it.)
There will be extra classroom accommodations put in place for the next school year. They will focus on helping him in those areas…because the test told them to. I could have done that. I did do that.
So many words, they all blur together.
I’m glad for those supports, truly. Sometimes though, I just want my boy to be a boy. Just a boy with a sassy mouth and a new pogo stick for his birthday.
Just once…to be defined by his strengths, not his weaknesses.
The other day in the car, Connor began singing along to the radio.
“And I am feeling so small
It was over my head
I know nothing at all.”
But I didn’t start crying until I’d dropped him at school.
Because, there in the car alone, I hurt.