Jack and His Superpowers

December 16th, 2010

So my son Jack  is only nine and a wee nine at that.  Actually he is a tall, bony, sort of skeletal nine, full of freckles and squealy juice, but never-mind my ardour for my youngest child.  All you really need to know is that he still allows me to occasionally cling to him like the abandoned monkey in a science experiment gone very wrong.  As you may have also noted, the rest of my children are advanced in age.  Weighing in at 15, 13, and 12, their minds have been polluted with that scary substance known to all mothers as independence and they have little time for their mom unless they are a.  hungry.  b.  needing cash.  c.  hungry again.

Responding to things (me) emotionally (or at all) also doesn’t come easily to my husband… 

Me – Holy SHIT!  I was just stung by a wasp!

Him – ———————————

Me – Dammit!  I was just stung again!

Him – ——————————-

Me – Holy Hell!  I am swelling up like a dead buffalo in an Arizona pasture in the middle of July!

Him – ——————————— unblink

Me – My fingers just popped open!  My eyeballs are ejecting from my head! 

Him – Can you pass me that wrench?

So yeah.  I am kind of isolated and alone in the realm of emotional response to pain around here.

But I still have my nine year old.  And he still responds beautifully to his old, occasionally emotionally, needy mom.

So when our family was driving out to western Kansas for Thanksgiving I kind of fell apart a little bit… okay… I sort of fell apart a lot.  I had a little breakdown in the minivan. I was kind of worked up about seeing family and I didn’t know how it would all go.   I was also all worked up about Fred Phelps coming to town and I was worried that no one was going to come out to counter his horrible protest and what does that say about my town and why do I live in such an awful place and what does this mean for my kids and etc, etc, and I started to tell the kids that family things were a bit hard for me these days because I don’t believe the way the rest of my family believes anymore and so things are kind of strained and odd and it makes me feel nervous and freaked out and I have lost some people that were at one time very important to me and Fred Phelps represents a certain kind of evil that people need to stand against because if people just ignore horrible stuff – it will never go away and yeah – so I was a basket case and I started crying and saying that it had been kind of a tough year and the boys were real quiet and the CD was real quiet and the whole van was real quiet except for me blubbering away in the driver’s seat trying to keep the car on the road…

And let’s just say that tearful emotional outbursts in our family are sort of rare unless they involve the X-box controller or unnecessary roughness in basement football.

But then Jack piped up and said…

Well yeah mom.  You can’t really believe in God… because that’s sort of like believing in super powers… and they aren’t real either.

And with that one small statement my nine year old made his mother feel much better.

You’re right Jack.   They’re aren’t really any superpowers… except for the ones that enable us to reach out beyond ourselves and help someone feel a bit better about things. 

And Thanksgiving turned out to be okay too. 

And the counter protest was very good. 

And this old world just keeps on a’ turning,