Crouching Mother, Hidden Fan. The Benefit of NOT Being There for our Kids

My boy, my second born.  Burdened with anxiety, burdened with fear of the unknown.  “Ya, ya” says every parent, “My kid’s anxious too, just throw him out there he’ll be fine.”

Yes I’m sure your kid is anxious. Most kids are.  Most adults are for petes sake.   Our world breeds anxiety. But Giorgio, well he’s Giorgio, and so I’ve had to parent him differently than the other kids I have that aren’t Giorgio.  They all come different, and sometimes you have to get creative to get over the hurdles.

For Giorgio, trying something new is a hurdle.  A big one.  I think it’s because he’s fearful of failure.  A gene I so generously passed on.   If we aren’t the best we don’t want to do it.  The conundrum is, you have to practice and kinda suck at first, to be the best.

I always said I didn’t wanna be a hockey Mom.  I didn’t want to be wrapped up in the politics.  I didn’t want to be one of those delusional parents who think THEIR child is destined to stardom.  Those parents who think THEIR child deserves more ice time.  Parents who think THEIR child’s coach is the problem.  Hanging out in a dank cold arena weekend after weekend, no thank you.

My plans of NOT being a hockey Mom were stomped out pretty quickly when my son discovered Hockey Night in Canada.  He liked it, he liked it a lot.  We’ve tried lots of activities, but he just wasn’t ready emotionally or socially.   Getting to soccer and karate was like convincing a toddler that brocolli is better than ice cream.  It was a constant battle.  Why were  we forcing  our kid to do something he clearly didn’t want to?  Fast forward a wee bit and at 7 years old, Giorgio has shown significant improvement in maturity, communication and self regulation (less fits, less anger).

This past summer we put him in a ball hockey league in Warsaw.   Thanks to kind coaching approach of Marcy McCauley Mundell and Jim Bailey along with my husband playing alongside him, we cracked the anxiety nut ever so slightly. It was then I realized that you need a community of understanding non judgmental people and a mother out of sight for this boy to persevere and get over the hurdle.

Now we’ve progressed to ice hockey.   It certainly hasn’t been peaches and cream but it’s getting close, real close.  As a parent you have to trust your judgement.  Am I forcing my kid or helping my kid? That’s a big question.  I knew Giorgio needed the confidence to do well but but he needed the patience to get the skill to get the confidence.  Ughhh.  Parenting is harrrrd.

After the first practice when he was the slowest and told me he wanted to quit I said “No.  I don’t care if you never play, or if you are the worst on the team.  You made a commitment, you have a team that needs you.  You WILL enjoy it.  I promise.”  I was telling myself that as much as I was telling him.

As soon as he knew he couldn’t bail and quit, his attitude changed a wee bit. His coach Steve Hockaday is  a dream.  He keeps it simple for Giorgio. That first practice Giorgio hid in the bathroom and sobbed “I’M NOT DOING IT.  I’M NOT PLAYING”.  Steve came round the corner, kneeled down and said, “Hey Giorgio, I’m Steve, can you skate?” “Ya” said Giorgio through streaming tears. “Great! That’s all I need you to do”.  The weight was lifted for Giorgio.   He could let go of those expectations he’d created of having to play like the guys on Hockey Night in Canada, and JUST skate.

A few practices later, some which were full of anger, frustration and tears, game day is here.  Giorgio is literally sick to his stomach.   I keep it low key and just keep it simple, talking about everything but hockey.  I can see he WANTS to play, and that’s all I care about it.  We get to the rink, and it is snazzy.    We start to get dressed and the anxiety starts to materialize with twitching, and whining about  how his clothes feel,  and how his skates don’t feel right.   I look around the dressing room, and I see at least three Dads. I know Giorgio knows how to put on his equipment.  I make a decision in that moment and say “Hey I’ll be right back I have to check on your brother.” This was true, but it was also an escape clause.   My theory is, if he can see me, he can whine. If he sees me,  he’s distracted.  He can try to get out of what he needs to do, because I’m his MOM.   There is no one else he’s more comfortable with.  Moms are an automatic “turn into a suck” prescription for all kids.  Even adults.  I’m still a suck with my Mom.

Dad’s can be soft too, but they still encourage and often produce ‘big boy’ behaviour from their sons.  I left and found a sacred spot.  I crouched down and watched the boys hit the ice.  I was the crouching Mother, hidden fan. What I witnessed was nothing short of a damn miracle.   I literally watched a flower bloom in just 60 minutes.  My boy, my Giorgio started off the game slow.  He was  scared and hesitant.  As the game progressed, so did he.  He finished his first hockey game standing taller, skating faster and getting to his position like a hockey player.  They got creamed by Aplsey 5-0, and the team was nothing short of the mighty ducks.  I was worried he would be frustrated with the loss, but instead of frustration, I saw confidence.  He came off the ice prouder than a peacock.  When I came into the dressing room after the game, he was PUMPED. “When’s our next game? I fell down, and I got up! I’m pretty good eh?”.

Giorgio needed the independence from me to believe in himself.  Sometimes what our kids need most is to do it themselves. There are no words for how happy I felt in that moment, and writing them makes me feel it all over again.  Giorgio may just have found his anti anxiety medicine.  I’ll crouch all day if I have to, I don’t need blood flowing to my feet.  I need my flower to continue to bloom.

MF