I want him happy
Me: Do you want me to wait with you?
Him: No, it’s ok, papa. I’m fine. I’ll just get on the bus and meet some people.
Woke up bright and early the other day to bring my kid to middle-of-nowhere Brooklyn where he caught a bus to another state for his first sleepaway camp.
He was fine. I was a mess.
It’s a special camp for kids that have lost an immediate family member – mother, father, brother, sister, etc.
An old and dear friend of mine told me about it, whose name is – fittingly – Heal.
She’s actually on the board of the group because she too lost a close family member as a child, so she walked me through the process of applying.
Well, he made it in and is currently living his absolute best life, at least based on all the pictures I’ve been seeing.
It’s a special camp for special kids, which makes sense, because my son is special.
Certainly, he’s special to me, but that’s not what I’m talking about.
-
- He could read at 18 months.
- He plays the guitar like a teenager.
- He just beat me in poker (granted, a well-trained poodle could probably beat me in poker but just put a pin on that for now).
He’s also the kid that doesn’t have a mother.
That is the thing that – unfortunately – makes him special in a way that no one wants.
When I was a kid, I aspired to be special.
I was/am the middle child and probably the biggest nobody until I was in college.
But it was over a college summer working in at some office that I realized that there seemed to be an inverse relationship between the special and the happy.
The happy people were the middle-management nobodies that deeply loved their spouses and kids, and their innocuous little hobbies.
Conversely, the special people were either always trying to convince people that they were still special or – probably much worse – convince themselves that they were still special.
The special people were rarely happy.
And the happy people were rarely special.
Seeing my kid blissfully unaware that he’s at all special, but for the fact he only has a dad, means that he’s also blissfully happy.
But he’s been noticing that he’s special lately, because he’s the only one of all his peers with only one living parent.
It was because of this that I sent him to this camp – so he would know he wasn’t alone in the world.
If I had to pick one, special or happy, I would pick happy every day and twice on Sunday.
God, I just want him to be safe and happy.
He’s such a good little kid.
I’d pay any amount right now, if I could know that, long after I’m gone, that he’s safe and happy.
And I’d trade all he could possibly be – brilliant, famous, wealthy, respected, everything – for him to just be that.
Me: Alright, please be careful, ok?
Him: (nodding) I will. Don’t worry. See you next week.
Location: 7AM, the gym, trying to wake up
Mood: pacing
Music: I’m ready to show that I’m no ordinary (Spotify)
Like this post? Tell someone about it by clicking a button below.