It seems that Milo is a never-ending source of bloggable stories. The kid had a rough week last week. Mid-week I was called away from the university to go and take him to the clinic to see if he had sustained eye damage. I rushed to the school to find him lying in the nurse's office, streaks of tears having been wiped recently from his cheeks, and a gauze pad bandaged over his left eye. He seemed calm, but I wasn't.
"What happened!?"
"It looks worse than it is", said the nurse. "We only called because when it comes to eyes, we like the parents to be able to take every precaution". No kidding.
As it happens, Milo, in his recent efforts to behave and control his emotions in class, was actually innocent. Some bully had blocked Milo from putting his lunch bag away when asked to do so by the teacher. Milo became emotional and eventually took a good kick to the face. The school nurse was very concerned that when she flashed her little light at his eye he got upset and started crying. "That is an indicator of eye damage". As concerned as I was, I wasn't convinced. I took her little flashlight and pointed it at his other eye - same reaction. At this point I couldn't help but articulate the obvious to the nurse. "Did you consider the possibility that he just doesn't like having a light flashed across his retina?" Ultimately, he was no worse for wear. We did visit the doctor to be safe, but his 'sensitivity to light' seemed to disappear the second he got a fast-food lunch. Many parents disparage McDonald's but I say never underestimate the medicinal value of a good happy-meal.
Later that same week, I had to make a pit-stop to pick up a paycheque from a local place of employment. I left Milo and the kids in the van with Marianne, quite comfortably and safely strapped in place. When I returned, I once again found Milo wiping red streaks of tears from his face and being gently pampered by Marianne upon her lap.
"What happened!?"
"It looks worse than it is", said Marianne. "Milo swallowed a penny". He seemed calm, but I wasn't. Fortunately, Marianne had had experience with this sort of thing and knew it not to be as serious as it sounds. It turns out that she had swallowed a key when she was quite young in order to try and get her father to stay home from a fishing trip. Her father had another key to the boat, his trip went on as scheduled and uninterrupted, and Marianne had to wait several days for the 're-emergence' of the key.
It quickly became evident to me, by what Milo was saying, that he was more concerned for the loss of his penny than for his health safety. I assured him, it would be back, and that it was, in the meantime, in a definitively safe place.
At the clinic, the doctor told me that the human body is amazing in "what it can squeeze out of its system". He assured me that there was really nothing to worry about, save a few "tight corners" the penny would have to manipulate that might cause Milo a little discomfort for a couple of days. To put this in perspective, he informed me that he would be giving me the same speech if Milo had swallowed a loonie, and that a penny was really nothing to worry about. His only real concern was that the penny had actually been inhaled which was far more dire. Several hours and several x-rays later, while driving home from the hospital, Milo confidently told his mother on the phone that "the penny was in a safe place of his body, not a bad place".
It has been three days and the penny is yet to make an appearance, although it is reasonable to assume that it may well have slipped past Jennifer or I. Milo seems none the worse and none the wiser - except that he keeps his coins away from his mouth now. I must admit, I sure have gotten my penny's worth of anecdotes out of that boy!
Shakes.
Wednesday, October 01, 2008
A Moment of Milo
One of the most fascinating people I know is a mere child, not yet even seven-years-old. Recently, this particular child has been garnering much attention in the public school that he attends. He has been diagnosed with every fashionable disorder from ADHD to being somewhere on the Asperger's continuum. He is a 'square peg' attempting to be forced into the 'round hole', generic-child public schooling system. It was this recent attention that prompted me to focus on him as the subject for yet another blog entry.
A child is somewhere between an object and a person from an adult's perspective - they are not fully developed 'people' and their behaviour and actions are always subject to interpretation. As such, the answers one might get from a personal interview with a child will always be interpreted, however unintentional, by our adult wisdom and psychoanalysis. In order to move a profile of my six-year-old son out of my first person interpretation, I will rather review some of the discussions that occurred in an interview between myself, Jennifer and a psychologist regarding his behaviour and imminent visits to said Psychologist.
She asked me to describe him so that she could evaluate my opinion of my son.
"He is a super-loving and hyper-energetic ball of curiosity and destruction. He needs and thrives on much attention and affection . . . so sweet, he's almost socially naive." In order to unpack this highly dense expository description, she asked me to provide her with examples of some of these items.
"What do you mean socially naive?"
"Well, . . . " I began, "at a recent family fun-fair at his school at the beginning of the year, as soon as we got there, he started bouncing up and down when he saw a little girl in his class, and screaming 'There's Rebecca! There's Rebecca!' and waving at her frantically." I replayed the scene in my mind and chuckled, "She was a little fat girl that didn't like him - her expression showed she wasn't exactly happy to see Milo. She grimaced and just kind'a waved back - probably just 'cause Marianne and I were standing there. . . He was totally oblivious - absolutely naive about her reaction, and he wasn't fazed at all! He just smiled and kept right on waving until something else caught his attention and he took off." It was true. In many ways he was naive about her disdain - totally lost in the moment - not careless, but carefree.
"What about curiosity and destruction?” she asked.
"Well, . . . first of all . . .” I paused. "He can make five pounds of mess from a meal that was only a half a pound to begin with." He certainly can spread a meal about his clothing and immediate vicinity. But he must get some in his mouth. His level of energy suggests that he is well nourished.
"And there was one time in the living room... I had spent the better part of an entire night cleaning and reorganizing the living room in our little two-bedroom apartment so that we had at least a little living space for us and our three kids. In the morning, I left to get groceries and Jennifer fell asleep on the couch. Upon my return I was stunned by the scene before me. Before I could even react, it took a moment to take inventory of the extent of the damage. There was black permanent marker scribbled all over the television screen, and up and down the freshly painted white walls. Every block of every type of construction set had been dumped out and mixed together into a pot-pourri in the middle of the floor. Every plant in the room was knocked over and spilling soil everywhere it shouldn't be. The finger paint jars were all tipped sideways and spilling on to the off-white carpet along with his works of art, which had far strayed from his papers. He held up one sheet and innocently asked, 'Do you like my art, Daddy?' I paused for a moment thinking of the whole room as a work of art - a physical testimonial to his energy and destructive creativity - a work of art that, in all my adult pretension, would have taken far longer than half an hour to destroy/create. In hindsight, it is a work of art of which I wish I had taken a photograph." But therein lies Milo's beauty. For adults, hindsight is 20/20 and often marred with regret. We become preoccupied with foresight. For a child hindsight exists only in the form of consequence - often imposed by adults - and foresight is non-existent. There is only here. There is only now. And every moment is a beautiful work of art.
Later, upon my return home from this interview, I became occupied with cleaning, or homework, or some such necessity, but was suddenly distracted by an urge to glance over at Milo. He was completely entrenched in a video game, bouncing away joyously, game controller gripped firmly in hand, and mesmerized by the cacophony of dancing sound and colour before him - he appeared a nearly hilarious paradox of perpetual motion and total attentiveness. With every minor success in the game, he would release a jubilant giggle, look over at his father to see if he had witnessed his triumph, and without a moment of disappointment in seeing that he had not, begin his bouncing anew.
Eventually, a clearly pivotal success was achieved and Milo couldn't help but share his excitement. He ran toward me with his already huge eyes widened in sheer exuberance, cheeks flushed, and gasping through his own breathlessness.
"Didja see?! Didja see, Dad?!"
"No, honey. I'm sorry, I didn't."
Milo was undaunted by my lack of attention to his gaming prowess.
"Well, dere was da guy (pant, pant) and he had two weapons and I couldn't beat him and I couldn and I couldn (gulp, wheeze) but den I dzumped into da blue spot and dere was a secret safe place (wheeze, pant) and I got him, I GOT HIM!"
His speech simultaneously made no sense at all and all the sense it ever needed to. Milo is a child - perfect in all his imperfections - and worth a room full of precious antiques, if only for the privilege of watching him artistically destroy. Milo does have a lot of energy. It does take a lot of energy to raise him and take care of him, . . . and to understand him. It would take a lot more energy to know I had missed any of it, though, . . . even a moment.
See you in heaven,
Shakes.
A child is somewhere between an object and a person from an adult's perspective - they are not fully developed 'people' and their behaviour and actions are always subject to interpretation. As such, the answers one might get from a personal interview with a child will always be interpreted, however unintentional, by our adult wisdom and psychoanalysis. In order to move a profile of my six-year-old son out of my first person interpretation, I will rather review some of the discussions that occurred in an interview between myself, Jennifer and a psychologist regarding his behaviour and imminent visits to said Psychologist.
She asked me to describe him so that she could evaluate my opinion of my son.
"He is a super-loving and hyper-energetic ball of curiosity and destruction. He needs and thrives on much attention and affection . . . so sweet, he's almost socially naive." In order to unpack this highly dense expository description, she asked me to provide her with examples of some of these items.
"What do you mean socially naive?"
"Well, . . . " I began, "at a recent family fun-fair at his school at the beginning of the year, as soon as we got there, he started bouncing up and down when he saw a little girl in his class, and screaming 'There's Rebecca! There's Rebecca!' and waving at her frantically." I replayed the scene in my mind and chuckled, "She was a little fat girl that didn't like him - her expression showed she wasn't exactly happy to see Milo. She grimaced and just kind'a waved back - probably just 'cause Marianne and I were standing there. . . He was totally oblivious - absolutely naive about her reaction, and he wasn't fazed at all! He just smiled and kept right on waving until something else caught his attention and he took off." It was true. In many ways he was naive about her disdain - totally lost in the moment - not careless, but carefree.
"What about curiosity and destruction?” she asked.
"Well, . . . first of all . . .” I paused. "He can make five pounds of mess from a meal that was only a half a pound to begin with." He certainly can spread a meal about his clothing and immediate vicinity. But he must get some in his mouth. His level of energy suggests that he is well nourished.
"And there was one time in the living room... I had spent the better part of an entire night cleaning and reorganizing the living room in our little two-bedroom apartment so that we had at least a little living space for us and our three kids. In the morning, I left to get groceries and Jennifer fell asleep on the couch. Upon my return I was stunned by the scene before me. Before I could even react, it took a moment to take inventory of the extent of the damage. There was black permanent marker scribbled all over the television screen, and up and down the freshly painted white walls. Every block of every type of construction set had been dumped out and mixed together into a pot-pourri in the middle of the floor. Every plant in the room was knocked over and spilling soil everywhere it shouldn't be. The finger paint jars were all tipped sideways and spilling on to the off-white carpet along with his works of art, which had far strayed from his papers. He held up one sheet and innocently asked, 'Do you like my art, Daddy?' I paused for a moment thinking of the whole room as a work of art - a physical testimonial to his energy and destructive creativity - a work of art that, in all my adult pretension, would have taken far longer than half an hour to destroy/create. In hindsight, it is a work of art of which I wish I had taken a photograph." But therein lies Milo's beauty. For adults, hindsight is 20/20 and often marred with regret. We become preoccupied with foresight. For a child hindsight exists only in the form of consequence - often imposed by adults - and foresight is non-existent. There is only here. There is only now. And every moment is a beautiful work of art.
Later, upon my return home from this interview, I became occupied with cleaning, or homework, or some such necessity, but was suddenly distracted by an urge to glance over at Milo. He was completely entrenched in a video game, bouncing away joyously, game controller gripped firmly in hand, and mesmerized by the cacophony of dancing sound and colour before him - he appeared a nearly hilarious paradox of perpetual motion and total attentiveness. With every minor success in the game, he would release a jubilant giggle, look over at his father to see if he had witnessed his triumph, and without a moment of disappointment in seeing that he had not, begin his bouncing anew.
Eventually, a clearly pivotal success was achieved and Milo couldn't help but share his excitement. He ran toward me with his already huge eyes widened in sheer exuberance, cheeks flushed, and gasping through his own breathlessness.
"Didja see?! Didja see, Dad?!"
"No, honey. I'm sorry, I didn't."
Milo was undaunted by my lack of attention to his gaming prowess.
"Well, dere was da guy (pant, pant) and he had two weapons and I couldn't beat him and I couldn and I couldn (gulp, wheeze) but den I dzumped into da blue spot and dere was a secret safe place (wheeze, pant) and I got him, I GOT HIM!"
His speech simultaneously made no sense at all and all the sense it ever needed to. Milo is a child - perfect in all his imperfections - and worth a room full of precious antiques, if only for the privilege of watching him artistically destroy. Milo does have a lot of energy. It does take a lot of energy to raise him and take care of him, . . . and to understand him. It would take a lot more energy to know I had missed any of it, though, . . . even a moment.
See you in heaven,
Shakes.
Time Will Tell
Dear Dad:
As I daily remind myself to use the phone and then never do, I have decided that while I am sitting at a computer working on an assignment, I would update you electronically.
It seems that my recent relationships have taken a greater toll than I had realized. Regardless of my sins of the past, infidelity against me and dependence on me have been identified as hugely abusive by my counselors while I was in a cycle of relationship addiction. I only now am beginning to see things objectively. Currently, I am not in a state of depression but more of a walking catatonia. The passionate behaviour that was the hallmark of my personality has all but disappeared. I feel neither romantic nor motivated towards dreams and goals as I once was, but merely numb and dull. My doctors assure me that my personality will return in time, but that I first need to learn to recover.
My foray into the world of theatre education has been marred by disillusionment with the program. However, I did manage to achieve a grade of 100% in second year theatre history - heretofore unachieved by anyone. All of my examination answers were published on the U-Vic Study Guide website. As such, I have been successful in my direct application to the Theatre History MA program, as well as the PDP (post-degree public school teaching certificate) program. I am once again faced with a choice - so long as my funding/loans hold up. However, neither program begins until next school year (Sept. 2009) and I find myself this year doing prerequisite contemporary English courses to satisfy my qualifications. I am actually quite enjoying them so far and my performance as a student has never been better. I am seriously concerned with the long-term loan costs but in two or three years, I stand to emerge with an MA in theatre history, A public school teaching certificate for English and Drama on top of my BA in English, my BA in Economics, as well as my broadcasting and TESL certificates. Time will tell.
A friend has invested in starting up an internet radio station. Although the industry is fledgling, it is not the pipe-dream it was a decade ago. I have been slated to do a weekly music and talk show for him. Although it is currently merely a hobby, it stands to become a viable industry and source of income. Time will tell.
My run with the Victoria Shakespeare Society this summer was once again met with rave reviews by the local newspapers ("David Christopher is the master of villains") and I am finished with that now. I once again worked for Pan Pacific this summer. Although it affords me a steady income during the summer months, I ended up teaching ESL to children more often than not. Administrative problems made that even less pleasant and I found myself disliking much of my summer work. My time with that organization may be quickly coming to an end. I did get the opportunity to re-write and design their ESL curriculum and level testing over a four week period which I quite enjoyed. When I demonstrated it to my girlfriend, Marianne, she pointed out how utterly brilliant she thought it was but I realized my own lack of foresight in contract negotiations when she also pointed out that it was too bad that I didn't own it because I could have sold it for much more than I was paid to design it.
Marianne and I have been dating for some months now. She and I began a friendship during the last stages of my relationship with Amelia which later blossomed into a full relationship. Of course, in reality, my 'friendship' with her was pivotal in the final demise of my relationship with Amelia as is so often the case with me. Marianne is 30 yrs. old, divorced with 3 kids of her own of which she has full custody. She is intelligent, beautiful, responsible, sweet and loyal to a fault . . . and for some reason, absolutely in love with me. In fact, she and I met some three years earlier at a water park - two parents who just started a conversation. There were sparks then, but we were both involved with other relationships at that time. Inevitably, she fell out of my immediate thoughts, but her own relationship dissolved shortly after that first meeting
and she says she carried a flame for me for two years hoping to bump into me again, until ultimately, she did. Our interactions represent everything I have ever loved and wanted. I consider myself lucky to have such a wonderful partner and truly enjoy her company. She has quickly taken over almost every aspect of my life, including moving in. Every day is an adventure.
The kids are great and remain the greatest source of happiness and passion in my life. Rory has become quite a talented football player and continues to mature into a responsible young man. He is taking school more seriously than ever before and really likes his new teacher. He stands to experience a successful and enjoyable year. Currently he is in track and field, gymnastics, and football, and still maintains A grades. Whether or not he can keep that pace remains to be seen. Time will tell.
Blair is as sweet as ever and enjoying the early stages of grade three. I do not wish to gloss over him, but there is not much more to tell. He has become an avid reader and seems happy and well integrated. I don't think am being naive or subjective in this analysis. Time will tell.
Milo's behaviour has prompted Jennifer and I to seek assistance from a psychologist outside of the school. Her current employment covers that cost as a benefit. Although he does very well with his school work, he becomes emotional easily and is difficult to calm. He has lately developed a habit of hitting. Fortunately, he seems happily oblivious to any stigmatization and moves through his days as buoyantly as ever. The psychologist has suggested (and I agree) that the behaviour began and manifested at school and has overflowed into our homes. I never had any problem with Milo that a lot of attention and a LOT of affection couldn't quickly cure, but as an energetic round peg in the square-hole-school-system, he has not been able to easily conform to large group interaction with minimal adult presence (ie. the classroom). All alarmism aside, he is fine and continues to be doing just fine.
Alas, I am breathless having not said a word, but merely writing about all that is my current emotional being. I am sure you are equally breathless having read it and must have questions. Please write back to update me on what is new there.
Love, Dave.
a.k.a.,
Shakes.
As I daily remind myself to use the phone and then never do, I have decided that while I am sitting at a computer working on an assignment, I would update you electronically.
It seems that my recent relationships have taken a greater toll than I had realized. Regardless of my sins of the past, infidelity against me and dependence on me have been identified as hugely abusive by my counselors while I was in a cycle of relationship addiction. I only now am beginning to see things objectively. Currently, I am not in a state of depression but more of a walking catatonia. The passionate behaviour that was the hallmark of my personality has all but disappeared. I feel neither romantic nor motivated towards dreams and goals as I once was, but merely numb and dull. My doctors assure me that my personality will return in time, but that I first need to learn to recover.
My foray into the world of theatre education has been marred by disillusionment with the program. However, I did manage to achieve a grade of 100% in second year theatre history - heretofore unachieved by anyone. All of my examination answers were published on the U-Vic Study Guide website. As such, I have been successful in my direct application to the Theatre History MA program, as well as the PDP (post-degree public school teaching certificate) program. I am once again faced with a choice - so long as my funding/loans hold up. However, neither program begins until next school year (Sept. 2009) and I find myself this year doing prerequisite contemporary English courses to satisfy my qualifications. I am actually quite enjoying them so far and my performance as a student has never been better. I am seriously concerned with the long-term loan costs but in two or three years, I stand to emerge with an MA in theatre history, A public school teaching certificate for English and Drama on top of my BA in English, my BA in Economics, as well as my broadcasting and TESL certificates. Time will tell.
A friend has invested in starting up an internet radio station. Although the industry is fledgling, it is not the pipe-dream it was a decade ago. I have been slated to do a weekly music and talk show for him. Although it is currently merely a hobby, it stands to become a viable industry and source of income. Time will tell.
My run with the Victoria Shakespeare Society this summer was once again met with rave reviews by the local newspapers ("David Christopher is the master of villains") and I am finished with that now. I once again worked for Pan Pacific this summer. Although it affords me a steady income during the summer months, I ended up teaching ESL to children more often than not. Administrative problems made that even less pleasant and I found myself disliking much of my summer work. My time with that organization may be quickly coming to an end. I did get the opportunity to re-write and design their ESL curriculum and level testing over a four week period which I quite enjoyed. When I demonstrated it to my girlfriend, Marianne, she pointed out how utterly brilliant she thought it was but I realized my own lack of foresight in contract negotiations when she also pointed out that it was too bad that I didn't own it because I could have sold it for much more than I was paid to design it.
Marianne and I have been dating for some months now. She and I began a friendship during the last stages of my relationship with Amelia which later blossomed into a full relationship. Of course, in reality, my 'friendship' with her was pivotal in the final demise of my relationship with Amelia as is so often the case with me. Marianne is 30 yrs. old, divorced with 3 kids of her own of which she has full custody. She is intelligent, beautiful, responsible, sweet and loyal to a fault . . . and for some reason, absolutely in love with me. In fact, she and I met some three years earlier at a water park - two parents who just started a conversation. There were sparks then, but we were both involved with other relationships at that time. Inevitably, she fell out of my immediate thoughts, but her own relationship dissolved shortly after that first meeting
and she says she carried a flame for me for two years hoping to bump into me again, until ultimately, she did. Our interactions represent everything I have ever loved and wanted. I consider myself lucky to have such a wonderful partner and truly enjoy her company. She has quickly taken over almost every aspect of my life, including moving in. Every day is an adventure.
The kids are great and remain the greatest source of happiness and passion in my life. Rory has become quite a talented football player and continues to mature into a responsible young man. He is taking school more seriously than ever before and really likes his new teacher. He stands to experience a successful and enjoyable year. Currently he is in track and field, gymnastics, and football, and still maintains A grades. Whether or not he can keep that pace remains to be seen. Time will tell.
Blair is as sweet as ever and enjoying the early stages of grade three. I do not wish to gloss over him, but there is not much more to tell. He has become an avid reader and seems happy and well integrated. I don't think am being naive or subjective in this analysis. Time will tell.
Milo's behaviour has prompted Jennifer and I to seek assistance from a psychologist outside of the school. Her current employment covers that cost as a benefit. Although he does very well with his school work, he becomes emotional easily and is difficult to calm. He has lately developed a habit of hitting. Fortunately, he seems happily oblivious to any stigmatization and moves through his days as buoyantly as ever. The psychologist has suggested (and I agree) that the behaviour began and manifested at school and has overflowed into our homes. I never had any problem with Milo that a lot of attention and a LOT of affection couldn't quickly cure, but as an energetic round peg in the square-hole-school-system, he has not been able to easily conform to large group interaction with minimal adult presence (ie. the classroom). All alarmism aside, he is fine and continues to be doing just fine.
Alas, I am breathless having not said a word, but merely writing about all that is my current emotional being. I am sure you are equally breathless having read it and must have questions. Please write back to update me on what is new there.
Love, Dave.
a.k.a.,
Shakes.
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