Yesterday was a roller-coaster ride for Boy and me. It started out normally enough — me distractedly trying to clean the house, him trying to get my attention. He was itching to buy a new game for his PSP, Need for Speed, and when did Gamestop open so I could call them and see if they had it? I put him off for a while, then broke it to him that I wasn’t going to be around that morning. I was going to breakfast with some friends.
“You NEVER want to spend time with me! You ALWAYS want to be with your friends. I HATE YOUR FRIENDS!” Boy cried.
I tried not to bite on that one. “No, you just want me to take you to Gamestop to buy you a new game,” I said.
He acted as if I do this every single Saturday, when the truth is, I went yesterday because it was the only Saturday without a soccer or basketball game. (I admit, Girl had a birthday invitation that I hid on top of the fridge.)
Before I left, my sister called with invitations to a dance recital that night. Did Girl and I want to go? I asked if Boy could come, too. I didn’t want any more accusations that day. She said yes, she had three tickets. Boy was noncommittal about going — he said he would go if he could play his PSP during the show with the sound off.
While I was gone, my sister left a message on the answering machine for me, saying that she had forgotten all about her daughter’s boyfriend and needed to give him Boy’s ticket. Boy apparently heard the message and went flying out to the backyard to tell Bob, bawling, “The boyfriend took my place!” Blessedly, my sister called back and left a second message, saying that she had checked, and it was okay for Girl to sit on somebody’s lap, so Boy could come if he wanted to.
When I returned from breakfast, Boy greeted me at the back door with “Problem solved. Come listen to this message.”
The day continued to go up and down for Boy and me. He helped me clean house by mopping the wood floors in the living room and dining room more thoroughly than anyone has ever done — at least, since we’ve lived in the house. I rewarded him by taking him to Gamestop to buy him Need for Speed. We had a good conversation in the car about marriage — specifically he was wanted to know if teenagers could get married. His wheels turned as he contemplated his cousin and her new boyfriend.
We’d been home about 10 minutes when he came stomping into the kitchen, announcing that he HATED his new game. That ultimately led to a hissy fit that got him sent to his room. When I went to check on him about 20 minutes later (I had to pick the lock with a quarter to get in), he was sound asleep on the bed.
I woke him up in time for the recital, and he and Girl were perfect throughout, though for me, it was sometimes hard to stay awake when my nieces weren’t on stage. We went to my sister and brother-in-law’s house for cake and ice cream afterwards. Boy played with the new boyfriend, stealing his baseball cap. Luckily, the boyfriend had two younger brothers and handled it in stride.
When it was time to go, I gave Boy the 10 minute warning that we were leaving.
“Nuh-uh! YOU SUCK!” he said, storming out of the room.
I followed him, grabbing him by the arm and telling him never to say that to me again. This was the second time he had told me I suck in front of other people. He has never said that in front of Bob, nor has he ever told Bob that he sucked.
He felt so bad about it that he hid in the dark by the dryer as Girl and I bid everyone goodbye. They all found him and hugged him and whispered into his ear, “Be nice to your mommy.”
By the time we pulled onto our street, Girl was asleep and Boy and I were chatting about his new PSP game — he liked it after all. I turned off the radio.
“Listen, I need to talk to you. Don’t ever say that I suck again. That really hurts my feelings,” I said.
“I know. I’m sorry,” he said, grabbing my arm and hugging it. Then he started bawling, for the upteenth time that day. “It’s just that I’ve been thinking about my other mother in Guatemala.”
This happens from time to time. Sometimes his adoption is on his mind constantly. Other times he seems to forget about it. I think it comes up whenever he feels insecure about his place in the family, or with me.
“Did something happen to make you think about it?” I asked.
“I don’t know. I’ve just been thinking about Guatemala ever since I woke up today,” he said.
I never really know what to say when this happens; I usually hold him and pat him. He continued to cry when he went inside the house. Bob tucked him into our bed and we all crawled in there with him. I did what I usually do — looked for an opportunity to distract him. So I started talking about my niece’s nice new boyfriend and the recital.
Boy began to laugh, telling Bob how my brother-in-law surprised everyone by getting up on stage and dancing with a group of dads. He fell asleep on that happy note.
I’m hoping for a better day today. I have my own insecurities when it comes to Boy. Sometimes he feels like a complete Martian to me. That may have more to do with the fact that he’s a boy than with his being adopted. Still, I wish I knew the perfect thing to say when he has a crying spell.
I don’t want to make light of his sadness or pretend it’s not there. This is his own personal pain, and it’s something I’ve never experienced. Luckily there are other people to help me surround him with love whenever he’s flailing around, trying to sort out his place in this world.
