Do You Wanna Dance, Hold My Hand

I thought it was a good omen that we found parking right near the hotel. We entered the small, smartly appointed lobby and could already hear the music. Noah looked so sharp in his navy blue suit and pale blue button down shirt. I opened the door to the "party lobby" and immediately bumped into a small group of Noah's classmates--present and former. "Hi Noah. Do you remember my name?" "Noah, say hello to Ethan," I prompted. Ethan took Noah under wing and escorted him into the party room. My gratitude knew no bounds.

I followed behind, standing at the edge of the room, hoping that would be my perch for the night. But there was just too much going on for Noah. Too many people, too many colors, too much loud music. He left the room repeatedly, like some kind of toy that keeps bobbing to the surface when you try to push it back down. I couldn't blame him, but I desperately--maybe too desperately?--wanted him to keep trying.

Then Jolie found Noah. I don't know if Jolie just has a sweet crush on Noah, or if she simply likes him so much as a friend that she can't help but try to include him. "Do you want to dance, Noah? Will you take a picture with me?" On and off the photo line with Noah, Jolie kept trying. I lost count of the number of times he left that photo line--and the party room. But Jolie never gave up. And I kept pushing Noah back inside. Mostly figuratively, but sometimes literally. "You won't have popcorn after the party unless you dance with Jolie," I warned.

God, it seems almost cruel to manipulate a child like that. No, correction. It seems cruel to manipulate a fourteen year old like that. But Noah has no friends who come calling after school. There are volunteers who come to the house; not the same thing. I just don't want this flame of interest among his peers to go out. At least not as long as I can help keep it going.

Jolie and Noah finally had their picture taken and before we left, I asked Jolie if she could bring Noah's copy to school on Monday, since we weren't going to make it to anywhere near the end of the party. I also made sure Noah signed the party book for Elena. "Elena looks like a princess. Love, Noah Gold." Several kids came by to read what other kids had written to Elena. When they got to Noah's tribute, I heard a collective "Aww."

My heart, as usual, found itself in a couple of different places that Saturday night. It was lodged firmly in my chest, but it migrated to my throat now and again. It's tiring, inspiring, overwhelming and dispriting--often at the same time--to be with Noah, and to try to get Noah to be with his peers. It's just not an option to stop trying.

The Parent-Teacher Conference to Cry For

I think it's important to keep children's confidences, so I won't go into revealing detail here, but it seems important for me to record and remember (details for my off-line journal) the conference we just had with my daughter's fourth grade teacher.

I'm used to conferences in which the teacher goes through test scores, shows you some work, mumbles something nice about your child (hopefully) and thanks you for coming. This was not that conference. The first thing out of the teacher's mouth--after apologizing for the fact that we waited an hour to meet with her--was "I think she's great." (It's worth noting here that Ariel was with us.)

We then went on to discuss struggles with math, and what might be self-defeating there in Ariel's thought patterns and behaviors. But it was the second part of the conversation that had me nearly in tears. That's not because the teacher said anything unkind. It was simply because sitting next to your child while she dissects her social struggles with a precision and insight that is both stark and stunningly true, is incredibly hard to do.

I was enormously proud of Ariel for being able to be so honest about herself, while also pointing out the ways in which other children have at times been unkind and/or unforgiving. I don't know whether my tears were born of sorrow or pride, but I just kept thinking: "I don't have one 'normal' child. I don't have one 'normal' child."

It might have been the lateness of the hour (our meeting started at 9p.m.), so perhaps my feelings were filtered through fatigue. I can't say for sure. But I was so moved by Ariel, so in awe of her poise in talking about a subject that has to be difficult. And to do it with your teacher and parents there together. Wow. More than that: after articulating so well how she perceives her own challenges as well as the responses of others to her, Ariel made a point of telling her teacher, without a touch of irony, that this has been her best year in school so far, and that she loves school.

I could have eaten my daughter up at the moment. But we had come to the conference from Haagen Dasz, where we celebrated Ariel's birthday over sundaes and ice cream cones. I didn't have room for one more bite, even of my delicious daughter.

War, Glorious War!!!

Dear President Obama,
When you address the nation tonight, consider dropping a real bomb on the American people. Tell us that even though we cannot win in Afghanistan, it would be immoral and unjust to continue to fight this war on the backs of an all-volunteer army. Therefore, you are initiating an immediate draft. A war we were told was meant to protect and defend ALL Americans, should be fought by all Americans. Enough of 5, 6, 7 and 8 tours for some, and going to the mall for the rest of us. Be really brave, Mr. President. Show the courage your predecessor and his army of armchair advisor-warriors lacked. Stop pretending that war isn't a hideous perversion, and that these wars aren't destroying us as a nation. Tell us the truth, Mr. President. Even if you don't get re-elected, you will have done your nation a great service.
Respectfully,
Nina B. Mogilnik