I guess.
Our friends, big and little, seemed to enjoy themselves. So did Natalie. (What a difference a year makes!) Bonnie was her easy-going self as always. Jack, well, Jack was Jack.
"It's too CROWDED. Mom, why can't we have the place to ourselves? I can't DO anything with all these other kids around. They push me and I don't get my turn."
"This kind of fun is way too exhausting."
"I don't want to go have fun with my friends. I just want to sit here and be alone."
"Okay, OKAY, I'll have fun but I'm not going to enjoy it."
As I listened to the never-ending litany of complaints and mentally counted off all the things I could have bought for myself with the money we scrimped to save for the party (simply counting to 10 would probably have been better for my blood pressure), I could feel my temper rising.
What is wrong with him? Why is he so stressed out and miserable at events? It's not THAT crowded -- What does it matter if there are people we don't know here? Everyone else is having fun; why can't he? When he looks forward to something, why does the reality of it never meet his expectations? Why do I never let myself relax and enjoy?
Wait, what? Who am I talking about again? Me? No, I was talking about Jack. Or was I?
I look at him and it's like looking in the damn mirror. And that's why I get so impatient with him. He reflects back me at my worst and I don't want to see it.
It's not all bad. He got some of my good qualities as well like his love of knowledge, his singlemindedness (blessing and curse, that one), his loyalty. Still, I wish he had inherited Tom's go-with-the-flow nature, his ease with crowds, his take-it-lightly attitude. In those areas, we are polar opposites and Jack is firmly Team Christy. Poor kid.
I guess I haven't helped make him otherwise. While I've never said, "Crowds suck!", I do tend to avoid going places that will be packed. Weekend excursions? Doubt it. We hit the playground, the mall, the boardwalk during the week when there is more breathing room. (I've been sweating out how jammed it will be down the shore on Labor Day weekend since we decided to go.) It's one of my favorite luxuries of being a stay-at-home mom, the ability to pick and choose when we do the things we love to do. Maybe I haven't done enough to get him used to putting up with crowds, lines, pushy kids. Maybe this is just how he is wired and nothing I did or didn't do would have made a difference. I don't know.
All I know is that I wish he was less intense, less inclined to find a reason to be upset. Less me. Less my Dad. Oh yeah, it's a legacy that has been passed down, be it nature or nurture.
He's bound to start emotionally eating any day now.
When someone asks him how the party went, the storm clouds will roll across his eyebrows and he'll say, "Well, I didn't have that much fun BUT..." and then he'll launch into dramatic description of all the things he did enjoy. By the time he is finished talking (is he ever finished talking?), he will be lively and animated. In his mind, it will have become The Best Party Ever. Because that's what we do, he and I. Our inner revisionists take over and we rewrite history to reflect what we wanted to happen, what should have happened, what we now believe did happen.
When you think about it, don't we all? With each retelling the fun becomes "funner", the suffering nobler, the motives less selfish.
I think we all take some white-out to our personal histories and our memories become a form of fiction based on facts rather than a true record of what actually happened. It's not necessarily a bad thing. Hey, if we didn't, we'd all be only children.
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