In-school Bardo

Bardo – Buddhist term – an intermediate state. The term usually refers to the term between death and rebirth. The Wisdon of No Escape, Pema Chodron.

My son is in bardo – the place between comfort in his old school and his end destination of fitting in at his new one. I’ve heard a little through M-ito but mostly late at night or via phone calls while I was away in New Orleans and then Lansing Michigan – working. But the picture is pretty clear to me. My son is in bardo. It’s a hard place to be, but it’s a place of growth. My son doesn’t want to hear that, though. He just wants to be out of bardo and on the shore of fitting in.

M-ito made his first friend during his first week at school. He called them aquaintences up until then. He named his first friend, Jacito, a boy from the other 2nd grade class. They played tag together with some other boys. Tag is one of M-ito’s favorite games. He laughs when he plays and his laughter is a sound that makes you and anyone around you smile. I thought, from my hotel room, listening to Mom-ita tell me of his adventures, that things seemed to be moving along. The process of forming with a new group had begun. I had expected it to be rocky but so far so good.

After he made his first friend, he told Mom-ita that he waited for the other class to come out for recess the next day. He waited by the door. I have this picture of him waiting for the other class to come out. “Will they come out today?” he told me later  he wondered. “Are they out sick?” Two days a week the two classes did not have recess together. He learned this while waiting for them to come out. Then on Friday, M-ito’s friend changed the game of tag to bullfight tag. A different game – out of my son’s comfort zone. He was still in bardo. He didn’t want to play. I know some things about my son and one thing is he likes to have mastery over games he plays. He doesn’t like games that he thinks he’s not good at – especially games that he’ll look bad playing. Embarrasment is a big factor even for 7-year olds. I understand this.

He sat on the fence watching the kids for two days. Mom-ita didn’t know what to do but she waited it out. She bounced her ideas off of me but she knew in her heart what was right for her son. I listened and agreed with her. M-ito’s teacher came to Mom-ita at the end of the second day and said, “I’ve been watching and waiting too. Other kids have asked him to play games bu he’s saying no. I’m not going to let it go on much longer.” The next day she asked M-ito to sit by her so he wasn’t by himself again. Some kids asked him to play bull fight tag then and he said yes. This time he got the rules down and played better. Perhaps the choice of sitting next to the teacher, whom he seems to like, or playing tag pushed him to play. In any case it worked.

He’s played other types of tag since then and played soccer yesterday. He played goalie. He says it’s easy and he likes it – with a shrug. No one else wants to play goalie so he steps up. He found a place from which to participate. I give him a lot of credit. Bardo is not an easy place to be. It’s so much easier to stay in your comfort zone, so much harder to step off into a strange land.

As a father I have found the whole process to have a hint of the unreal about it. I’m experiencing much of it second hand – through Mom-ita. M-ito is close to her because she drives him in and picks him up. She is his lifeline to see at the end of the day. I am the guy he sees most evenings at 6pm – regular time, usually coming home while he’s in the middle of his homework. He doens’t ask me for help, that is Mom-ita’s domain. Even trying to make one day a week driving in with the two of them – it’s still hard to stay part of things. Drop-off happens so quick. Mostly, like so many Dad-ditos these days, I try to catch up on the weekend. You see, I’m in my own bardo too. I’m adjusting to change and allowing this new aspect of our relationship to grow also. It sounds good on paper but it sure is hard to do.

Meeting Your Edge

A Buddhist story related by Pema Chodron goes like this.

A group of travellors gets ready to climb a mountain. After a few hundred feet a few can’t go up any higher so they stop. As the group goes up higher others stop, unable to go further. Finally a few reach the top. Those that stopped along the way, met their edge. They reached a place where the word “no” rang so loudly in their ears that they simply had to stop. The key is that the ones who made it to the top are not the winners. They had no fear of hieghts or had it but it was bearable. The ones who had to stop along the way are not losers either. They simply met their edge and could go no further. Meeting your edge means you have something to learn about yourself, that you need to open your heart to the experience, be kind to yourself and recognize that you have something to learn. Those who made it to the top will meet their edge on some other expedition. Everyone meets their edge, sooner or later in life. Engaging in life means you go up the mountain, you show up for the expedition, not knowing how far you will be able to go.

Sunday I watched my son meet his edge. He’s seven so he meets it often. But I’ve never seen it so viscerally before. A classmate whom he has only just met, had invited him to his birthday party and M-ito went. It was at a rock climbing gym out on Long Island. We’d been there once before on a reconnaissance of the place. The first time we went M-ito climbed half way up. The second time a quarter of the way up, then two thirds of the way up and finally a quarter of the way up, four different lines. I still can’t believe he kept at it even though it was clear that he was not enjoying himself.

At the party I saw all kinds of edge-meeting going on. Some kids did not come so they met their edge in their minds. One boy didn’t put on a harness, though he came for cake and pizza. One boy put on a harness and tried to climb only once, making it up half way then coming down, his arms and legs shaking. Several boys made it up half way and came down. Some made it to the top. One boy left in tears.

M-ito watched and when a few had stopped at the halfway point he gave it at try. He made it a few feet up then stopped. I watched as he tried with all his abilities to make his hand reach up for the next rock. It shook and trembled reached up then down, up then down. It was so painful to watch. Finally he looked down at us and asked to come down. He tried to climb twice, the second time with the same results. He sat down next to me afterwards, angry with himself, his arms crossed across his chest. He wouldn’t let me speak to him.

“You did great,” I said.

“I’m so proud of you.”

“You really did your best. It’s only what you could do today. Tomorrow will be different.”

“Be kind to yourself, you did great.” I’m afraid of heights but I can climb in spite of it. Still I know how hard it can be to keep going up. But it didn’t matter what I said.

He walked away from me with a scowl on his face. Mom-ita got him to speak to her by talking about something else. Then he settled in. He recovered about fifteen minutes later and seemed to move on. I had to watch while he processed and dealt with his damaged ego. It broke my heart to see and not be able to do anything about it. But my son is resilient and he seemed to be able to move past it. I wish I could have helped but I’m also glad Mom-ita was there to be of help.

Sometimes it just works that way.

As Pema Chodron says, meeting your edge means you’re showing up for life, you’re engaged on the journey. Practice loving-kindness to yourself and you open to life’s possibilities. Well, it’s something to shoot for.

First Day of School

Who’s more scared? Parents or kids? At a new school for the third time in my child’s life I think it might be a tie. Mom-ita and I drove M-ito to his first day of school last week and I took two days off to be there for the whole first day and for the one hour intro to school the day before. The commute was fine, not to much traffic, but lots of nervousness in the back seat and the front.

Mom-ita cried and I found tears coming to my eyes also as we gave him a hug before he was lead off to his classroom. M-ito’s first day was well planned out by the school he’s going to. They welcomed new students by name, with a handshake and gift from an upper classperson, in a morning assembly that all parents were invited to. We ate lunch with our kids then took off and did some food shopping while we waited. It was something to do. It was a day of waiting and of reflecting and shopping was a nice concrete something to do. We had about four hours to wait – on and off during – that first day in between meeting his teacher, seeing his classroom, being told by school administrative staff and the headmaster that “everything will be okay,” over and over again. Sure – easy for them to say.

I was surprised at how strongly I felt about sending him to school. This was truly the summer of transition from one school to another, from one set of friends to another, and for us as parents from one set of parents whose kids M-ito knows, to another. We are in the midst of meeting all these new parents, just as M-ito is in the midst of meeting all these new kids. Each of us is having to manage new relationships like crazy. I have to put my hand and my “self” out a lot. I have to say hello and introduce myself, try to remember which kids are which and which go with which parents. Mom-ita has been doing it all summer and I’m still catching up. Now I’m putting faces to names I’ve heard and trying assign kids to them.

What has caught me a little more by surprise than these difficulties is how watching my son go to school has reminded me of my own going to school when I was his age. It has brought up deep feelings of loss and sadness for what was. I changed schools and homes when I was going into fourth grade, M-ito is changing schools in 2nd. I remember leaving people behind and meeting new kids, best friends-to-be, none of which I’m still in touch with or becuase they have died long ago. I remember getting a new father and house to live in. I can feel this viscerally, in the tingling in my fingers as I type away. What a mix. Seeing this kind of history spread out in front of my son overwhelms me. But it’s my past not his.

At lunch after the assembly my son came over to me, so that Mom-ita wouldn’t be able to hear, and said, “I want to go home.”

I looked at him with my heart breaking. “Can you last for a few more hours?” I asked him, looking deeply into those brown eyes of his.

“How many hours is that?” he asked.

“Two.”

Then he nodded and hugged me. I didn’t tell Mom-ita about this until later.

When we came back to pick him up at three o’clock he was happy and seemed fine. He’d had science last period and he loves science and so his whole experience was framed by what he did there. His teacher had told them to pick a kind of scientist they would like to be – M-ito said paleontologist, of course – and to draw a picture of one on the front cover of their science notebook.

From the back seat of the car M-ito said, “I tried to be small in the class, but they wouldn’t let me be.” Mom-ita smiled while I drove. In his last school M-ito could “be small” and not noticed – not get attention – if he was quiet and followed the rules. He could “dissapear” if he wanted to – which I think he did a lot. In this school they introduced the kids to each other, asked them to play games with each other in recess (stopping cliques from arising – or at least attempting to) and seemed to try and notice what kids were doing and not doing. Small classes, good teachers. So far so good. But it meant that M-ito had to be more social than he was used to being. He is a shy kid who takes time to warm up. He must have been exhausted from all that kind of work. I know I was. I said hello and shook many hands in the parent meetings, at the coffee shop where I saw more of the same parents hanging out – just like us – and when we picked M-ito up. I had to force myself. I learned new names and forget them all within a matter of moments. Still, it’s part of the job of a parent. At 47 I have to tell you it’s not easy to go out and make new friends. I don’t necessarily want to put in that kind of effort but it comes with the territory. I guess I like to “be small” too.

After not talking about school for a few hours – even though we pestered M-ito left and right about what he did, at dinner time he finally gave us the whole run-down.

His second day I went to work with a knot in my stomach.

It’s his third day today, this beautiful Monday morning, and his first whole week of school. I’m doing my deep breathing exercises, trying to stay present, and not slip into the past. Mom-ita and M-ito left 45 minutes ago. I’m heading out too. I find I have to remind myself, this is his school experience, not mine. And this is my parenting experience, not his. The idea, I think, is to try to keep things that way. The challenge is in making it so.

Lanyard Tricks

Here’s a great website that teaches eight or nine different stitches – Lanyards.com. The videos are easy to follow, clearly filmed, with good verbal instructions.

M-ito learned the box stitch in about an hour then taught a friend two days later. The box stitch is a good one to start with. I remember lanyard from camp when I was a kid. It’s still the same thing and still pretty cool to do – very focusing, very zen. Over, under, over under. Wash on, wash off. Keep the lanyards in line. That and some finger dexterity is all you need. It sounds simple but does take practice. We bought some lanyard out in Greenport so city folks will have to look at Michaels Craft Store to get theirs. That’s where I’m getting my next batch. It’s been added to my bag of tricks and especially uyseful when waiting for dinner to be served.

Learning How to Ride a Bike in the City

Step 1: Figure out your child (I’m still working on that).

Step 2: Figure out how your child learns dangerous tasks best. This I actually know.  When M-ito learned how to walk he held on to tables, chairs, and sofas, not letting go of anything or anybody until he could walk without falling. He took a long time to do this and my back is still complaining from the process. But when he walked he didn’t fall down.

Step 3: Training Wheels. Knowing your child is like M-ito – cautious, careful, determined – get him a bike with training wheels. For us the training wheels lasted about two years, perhaps a bit longer. Then M-ito said to take them off. Peer pressure kicked in. At the age of 6 and a 1/2 a good number of his friends were already riding without training wheels so my son said, “take them off.”

Step 4: Pad him up. We bought knees guards, elbow guards, and hand guards, padded him up and set out for a park, expecting to be riding without any problem by the time we got home.

Step 5: Find a park. We used the Bulova park on the other side of our hood because few people go there and there’s a big open b-ball soccer area in the back usually with no one in it.

Step 6: Make a few trial runs. I held on to his seat and ran with him four or five stretches, letting go for a few yards at the end. My son yelled, “Dad-dito, don’t let go!” after each run. He kept his gaze down and had a hard time coordinating his movements and balance while a voice in his head was probably screaming “I’m going to die!” It’s a tough multi-task. Sweat pouring off him, and me, we gave up – him dissapointed in himself and me in myself. What kind of father was I? This should be easy. Two of M-ito’s friends learned in 1 afternoon. They took off and started riding – no pads, no trial runs, nothing. If you don’t understand how this could happen then just go back to step 1 & 2 above.

Step 7: Have a personal aside about your own process when you were a kid. I learned to ride with my brother who was a year older than me. What I remember of the experience was sketchy but contained the following: 1) my brother was there and he already could ride. 2) my brother was a part of the process of helping me to learn. 3) someone (might have been my brother) pushed me down a long driveway while I pedalled like mad. 4) the someone let go and I went a few yards without any help. 5) I knew I could ride on my own in those few seconds because I found my balance. 6) I then crashed and got a few good scrapes on my legs and arms. 7) I crashed a lot but seemed to have gotten the hang of it after that first run. Note: I don’t remember training wheels or instruction – perhpas there was more but I blocked it out.

Step 8: Try again and again. We tried the same process two more times at a closer park – each time we made fewer and fewer runs until the fourth overall attempt (one month later) brought us to a standstill. My son’s downcast gaze told it all. We were both defeated. A leap of faith and skill was needed and neither one of us could provide it.

Step 9: Talk to Mom-ita. Why you might ask? Because Mom-ita knows these kinds of things – or at least how to solve them. So she googled and found an article that gave us the clues we needed.

Step 10: Come up with a plan. We developed a plan. Well, Mom-ita did which she explained to me, which I then implemented by doing the technical work of changing what M-ito’s bike looked like. I was glad to be of use.

Step 11: Tell your child. We sat M-ito down and said we had a plan that would help him get up and going. We said he needed some help and we had just the help he needed. It made him smile with renewed hope. He said he’d try it – meaning what-ever we came up with.

Step 12: Lower the Seat. So we lowered the seat first so his feet could touch the ground easily. Just like those bikes that all the three year olds have now – not available at the time my son was that age – that are made of wood and just glide – they have no pedals. They’re brilliant.

Step 13: Practice. Then we rode everywhere – and I mean everywhere – with the seat lowered and it was better but… we needed to take one more step.

Step 14: Take off the pedals. Oh yeah. That did the trick. With the pedals there were no bruises on the ankles, grease marks on the calves, or scrapes from the pedal’s traction grips. He rode everywhere. I jogged alongside him or walked. He practiced his balance and mutitasking. I could tell the voice in his head that said, “I’m going to die!” while he rode was getting softer.

Step 15: Have patience. This lasted two more months. I think it could have lasted longer but fate intervened.

Step 16: Go somewhere with lots of down-hills with friends who already ride without training wheels. So we went on vacation with friends who have two kids older than M-ito. We camped a few days as part of the vacation. On the campground the dirt roads and down-hills allowed M-ito to go fast and forced him to look ahead, not down, to multi-task making decisions of balance, speed, and brake-power very quickly. After two days, he was ready. One of his friends said, “M-ito, put the pedals back on. You can do it.” That afternoon he came to me and said that he was ready.

Step 17: Put the pedals back on. So the pedals were put back on. I stood next to my son and he pushed off, wobbled at first then went down hill, found his balance and braked after about ten yards. He looked back up the hill at Mom-ita and me and smiled. Within five minutes he was riding everywhere. I guess you could say he learned how to ride in a few minutes. Two years, four months and a few minutes.

Step 18: Put on your running shoes. Now, of course, you have to keep up.

36 States then Hawaii

Maine is a long, long way from New York and Queens. Most car games did not work to keep M-ito occupied.

Who am I?  - too boring.

Rhyming games from my improv days? – I don’t feel like it.

M-ito gets car sick so reading, movies, quilting, drawing, anything that requires him to look at something other than the passing scenery won’t work.

But… the licence plate game – now that was different. We took two days travelling up, staying in New Hampshire night one and ending up in Bar Harbor day two and the reverse on the way back soem eleven days later. Looking out for different state licence plates actually kept us all going when eyes were tired and tempers flared.

“Have we seen North Dakota yet?”

“YYYEEEESSSS.”

We got California early and Alaska (2x) and most of the east coast then started to work our way out west. we dontinued the game on throughout the whole vacation, spotting cars in the parking lot where the Champlain Mountain trail started and in down town Bar Harbor at the Pizza and a Movie show parking lot. Honestly we thought we’d never get Hawaii. We even talked about the odds of getting all 50 states in one trip and how Hawaii would be the impossible one. How could you find a car from there out here on the east coast.

But at a rest stop in Connecticut, only 45 minutes from home and the end of our vacation, as we were pulling out of the parking lot I saw something that looked like a rainbow on a plate out of the corner of my eye – at licence plate level on a white van. I decided to turn left instead of right, as we were heading out of the parking lot.

“What are you doing, Dad-dito,” Mom-ita said as I turned to go out the longer way.

“I thought I saw something,” I said.

We stopped in front of a family sitting inside of a van and whooped and hollared as we stared at them and their Hawaii plate. High-5s fluttered left and right. The van owners stared at us for a moment then must have realized what it was we had seen in their car. The licence plate game must be a game played everywhere – either that or they are used to being spotted. They waved and smiled back at us, nodding. Yes, we’re from Hawaii.

Oh yeah. Our list follows. Compare it to yours on your next trip up and back.

1. New York
2. New Jersey
3. Deleware
4. Pennsylvania
5. Connecticut
6. Rhode Island
7. Massachusets
8. Vermont
9. New Hampshire
10. Maine
11. Virginia
12. Washington DC
13. Washington
14. California
15. Ohio
16. Kentucky
17. Tennesee
18. Georgia
19. South Carolina
20. North Carolina
21. Florida
22. Illinois
23. Indiana
24. Missouri
25. Michigan
26. Maryland
27. Texas
28. Louisiana
29. Minnesota
30. New Mexico
31. Arizona
32. Alaska
33. Wisconsin
34. Oklahoma
35. North Dakota
36. Iowa
37. Hawaii

Just for the heck of it we also saw 4 Canadian states: Nova Scotia, Quebec, Ontario, and New Brunswick.