I had to retrieve my older daughter from school early, because she was leaving on a ski trip with a friend's family, and they don't just let kids wander off before the last bell rings. In the main office, there's a sign-out sheet: my name, her name, time, and reason for leaving. A new sheet had just been started, so there was only one used line above the one I filled in, and I noticed that someone's mom had written in the reason box: "sick/anxiety." As we drove off I mentioned this to Lydia, who commented: "Probably has Ms. K for math. Her tests really suck." Then we performed a familiar ritual. Only the fine details vary.
Me: You mean they stink. The tests are hard.
Her: No, they actually suck.
Me: You could just say they're hard, challenging.
Her: No one gets anxiety cuz they're "hard." They suck.
She made air quotes with her fingers around "hard." We were about two minutes away from parting for a few days, so I Iet it drop, but I'm putting my foot down if she starts saying stuff "fucking sucks." That's bullshit.
I doubt it's the math tests and feel bad for the kid with anxiety. Maybe his mom is the real nut. I've noticed, for example on "curriculum night," that when time comes for parents to ask questions two out of every three concern "accelerated programs" for their "gifted children," which accounts for why I no longer go to "curriculum night." More bullshit! The school is about a half mile from Lake Harriet, which is surrounded by some of the most affluent neighborhoods in Minneapolis. Living about a half mile in the other direction, I always suspect they're the ones obsessed with accelerated programs, and, if I'm right, perhaps there's a connection to the disorders of their 12- and 13-year-olds? Just a theory. I'll be punished for it when my younger one gets to middle school and I start taking calls from the school psychologist.
I can imagine myself encouraging—lecturing—my anxious kid. "Get a little perspective! It's not a big deal, you only think it's a big deal!" It amounts to, "You feel miserable but you're wrong." Can a person in misery ever persuade himself that he's wrong and he ought not to feel miserable? You just have to get older. When you're 20, you'll realize that the stuff you worried about at 15 was trivial, but you'll have new reasons to be miserable, also trivial. I used to be miserable at work. The problem, I now realize, is that since I was busy I assumed what I was doing must be important. Yet more bullshit! One of these years, a doctor will probably tell me that the cancer has spread to my underwear, and I'll think it's the end of the world, but when I get older I'll realize I was wrong about that, too.
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