I lay my hands upon them each morning. Together we petition for protection, good choices, a mind prepared for learning and a heart prepared for accepting. I let them hear my voice and feel my touch, hoping somehow it will speak to their young spirits.
We say amen and then I say the same affirmations just before the bus or the carpool pickup arrives. They know them so well that it probably feels a bit like Groundhog Day--which is alright with me. That said, this morning with Zachary was just a little different.
6:48 a.m. this morning
"Who are you?" I started.
I secured his hood and skull cap onto his head.
Zachary replied like clockwork, "I'm the head and not the tail."
His coat zipper stuck for a bit and I helped him get it going.
I went on without missing a beat. "Exactly. And what else?"
I checked his backpack to make sure he had his folder and courier, spinning him around like a little top.
"I'm a leader and not a follower."
Now he was facing me. He perched his chin forward so that I could pick something from the corner of his eyes that we'd missed.
"That's right. And what else, son?"
We pulled on the bottom straps to tighten them around his shoulders. He grabbed each one with both hands to make sure they were secure and gave them a firm tug. Then he looked up at me and smiled like always.
"I'm a child of God and I can do all things through Christ who gives me strength."
"Yup."
Next, I started into the rest of my every morning-last minute diatribe that probably comes out more like one of those announcers telling the side effects at the end of those pharmaceutical commercials than anything else. "Make good choices, okay? Follow your heart, alright? And always choose kindness. Always, okay?"
"I know, Mom. I will, Mom."
Just then the bus pulled up with its blinking red lights.
"Okay, buddy. Make it an awesome day."
He started to light out toward the bus like always but stopped short to say one more thing.
"Hey Mama?"
"What's that, bud?"
"You know what else I am?"
I felt my heart beginning to swell in anticipation of whatever sweet little punctuation my boy would have on our exchange before starting his day--especially since he'd started it out by calling me "mama." I pulled my jacket closed to hide the pajama shirt I was wearing underneath and cocked my head sideways.
"What's that, sweet boy?"
"I'M A SEAHAWKS FAN! OH YEAAAAAAH, BABY!!! WAAAAHOOOOO!!!! LET'S GET IT, BABY!!!!"
And with that, he leaped onto the school bus, gave the bus driver a fist pump (I kid you not) and then disappeared down the aisle with his gigantic backpack bouncing behind him.
Well. Yeah. I guess he's that, too.
***
Happy Friday. Let's hear it for those 'Hawks and my little 12th man.
Zachary: "For my birthday tomorrow morning, I want you to wake me up singing."
Me: "Singing?"
"Yes. Singing. I want you to wake me up singing a happy song that tells me how much you love me and how happy you are that I was born."
Me: "Hmmm. Well I am happy that you were born."
Zachary: "I mean it, Mama."
Me: "I could try, son. But I'm just thinking. . .my voice isn't really a voice for singing so much. Other than to you guys when you were smaller."
Zachary: "But I like when your voice is singing to me and my brother. It always makes me feel really happy inside. And special."
Me: "Okay. Then I'll wake you up singing tomorrow."
I kissed him on the forehead, pulled his covers over his shoulder, and walked out of the room. And that was that.
This morning, I tiptoed into his room, sat quietly beside him on his bed, and then I leaned over him. Scooping him into my arms still groggy and rag doll limp, I whispered straight into his now eight year old ear:
And you know what my baby boy did in response? Even while half asleep, he hugged my neck as tight as he could. I could feel his smiling cheeks bulging on the side of my shoulder when he said, "Thank you so much, Mama. I feel like I can do anything now. And like my whole year is gonna be happy."
I replied, "I hope your whole life is happy, son."
And he hugged me once more and said, "So far, it has been. And I think I'm gonna try to keep it going, okay Mom?"
I squeezed him tighter and responded, "Me too, son."
Me, too.
Happy birthday, Zachary. Sometimes? Man. Sometimes we get it right.
***
Happy Thursday. It's been a lovely day and a lovely eight years so far.
Now playing on my mental iPod. . . . . the song that made my son feel happy today. Which made me happy, too.
"What if, instead of running, everyone stayed and fought the bad guys with Superman?"
~ Zachary Manning
That's the question he posed to his Auntie JoLai while watching a Superman movie at her house last week. And you know what? I've been thinking about his question ever since.
Last year his team was undefeated. We played ten football games and not a single one ended with us doing anything other than victory dances. And that? That was a great experience. It was not only Zachary's introduction to football but really mine, too. So cheering for a winning team on your first go around the block was pretty darn awesome.
Yeah, it was.
Last year, Zachary was still learning the game. He was confused on plays more often than not and, though he eventually got the hang of it, wasn't necessarily a star on the team. But this year? This year has been different. He's older and stronger. He's smarter and faster. And this time? He's one of the team leaders. One of the "bigger boys" who sets the tone and often makes the touchdowns and winning tackles. In other words, he's a pacesetter and part of the climate-control for team morale much like the seven year-olds were on his team last year.
Zachary's team has been very good this year. But no, they aren't undefeated like last year. And I can tell that he truly expects to win always. That doesn't bother me so much. It makes him go harder and give more of himself. And usually it pays off. That said, he had to learn some hard lessons at his last game. Harry and I found out fast that our son had to understand how to handle failure.
Yeah, man.
When his team fell behind, I could tell he was getting frustrated. Even in full pads, I could see it in his body language. His shoulders slumped and his feet shuffled. With each play, he went into it with less and less zeal. And you know what happened? Many of the other kids followed his lead.
His team lost. And not only did they lose, they lost big. To a team that they'd blown out just three weeks before. Zachary was devastated.
We talked a lot about it after the game. I asked him about his feelings and admitted that it surprised me to see him give up. He immediately started crying. I gave him a big hug and kissed him on the top of his head. "You're a leader, son. Remember that. Leaders take losses and learn from them."
"We should have beat that team."
"Okay. Maybe so, Zachary. But what did you learn?"
"I don't know, Mom."
"Zachary, you have to have the heart of a champion even if you're losing. If you are giving your best effort, then you have nothing to be sad about. You can't drop your head. You have to run hard to the end no matter what. Does that make sense?" He just stared at me with wet eyelashes. "Z? Do you think you gave your best for the whole game today?"
"At first I did. But then I didn't."
"You won't always win every game. But that doesn't mean you're not always a winner."
"Dad said I'm a leader so I can't do things I did last year."
"Dad is right."
"Your favorite player Ray Lewis lost a lot of big games before winning the Super Bowl. And one time? This one guy named Michael Strahan was in the Super Bowl and his team was losing by a touch down. It was the very, very end of the game, too. Everybody thought the other team was going to win, too. But since he was a team leader he got in everybody's face and told them really loud, 'The final score will be 17 -14! Believe it and it will happen!'"
His eyes widened. "Did they win?"
"Yep. And the final score was 17 -14! Crazy right?"
"Is it on a YouTube video?"
"What?"
"The 17 -14 thing. And the Ray Lewis thing. Can you show me on YouTube?"
And seeing as everything is on YouTube I gave him this answer. "Probably."
And you know what happened next? I sat with my boy and we watched YouTube clips exemplifying the heart of a champion. And we talked and explored and reflected on what it all meant. We also came up with ideas for what you should do when you lose or you're losing.
"You gotta stay pumped up like Ray Lewis!" Zachary said with new found excitement. "And you have to keep on trying for the next time if you lose. You gotta believe you can win it, too."
"Yep. You have to take the loss and make yourself go even harder. That's how the heart of a champion gets strong."
"Ray Lewis lost a lot?"
"Did he? Oh man, he did. Some really disappointing losses, too. And not just him. A lot of champions lost before they won. Or they won and lost and went harder until they won again."
"I'm gonna go harder."
"You know what, son? Me, too."
After that, I showed him one more YouTube video--and I realized that it was just as much for me as it was for him:
Here's what I know for sure: Everything can't be victory and roses. And even the most beautiful rose gardens need a little dirt and failure to grow.
Yeah.
***
Happy Sunday. And I want you to know that Zachary has been doing the Ray Lewis dance ALL DAY.
Here's the videos we watched in addition to the one above. . . . This one was our favorite:
At the end of this one is the actual footage of Strahan pumping up his losing team in Super Bowl 42. (Ignore the weird part about Tony Romo that lasts 2 seconds.)
And lastly this song has been on my mental iPod. . . I also played for Zachary today and he liked it. It was one of Auntie Deanna's favorite songs.
I've always liked the number seven. I like that it's a number that can't be divided by anything.
Yeah.
Today my baby boy turned seven. And, like always, he faced this day with the same energy and determination as he does all 364 other ones each year. I love that about him.
I broke away from Grady and met him in the school cafeteria today for a hot date over some hot lunch. And really, all I mostly did was sit and listen to the conversation of first grade boys which, if you haven't heard it, consists of like three or four subjects. In between discussions of Minecraft, Pokemon and football, Zachary would periodically lean over and wrap his arms around me and hug me super hard. Then he'd pucker his lips and let me plant one on him right there in front of his friends.Without even flinching.
Swoon.
Now that? That is so Zachary. The furthest thing from his mind was what those other boys would say about him canoodling with his mother over pineapple cubes and sweet potatoes. He's the same kid who as a kindergartner -- in response to being chided about his lavender shirt being a "girl shirt" -- cocked his head sideways, narrowed his eyes and said this:
"What? I'm a boy. And this is my shirt. So how can it be a girl shirt? That's a dumb thing to say."
And that? That was the end of that. Surely was.
Some other kid said that Pokemon cards are for little kids not big kids like people in first grade. That was today while we had lunch. And Zachary shrugged and said, "I still like Pokemon cards. I like the show, too. And I'm in first grade so that's kind of dumb to say." And the kid said, "But it's a baby show." And Zachary said, "Not to me. I like Pokemon. And I just play with what I like to play with." Then he changed the subject.
So, yeah, that was the end of that, too.
I've not met too many people as confident as he. And not in that conceited way either. He's just one of those kids that knew who he was from the start and never needed anyone to remind him. Or maybe we remind him without knowing? I don't know.
Either way, his swagger is on a thousand-trillion.
But. Despite that uber-confidence, he is always happy to look up to his big brother. He wants to be with him and hear his thoughts. And he works hard at being his friend. And he is his friend. His very best one, actually.
I love that about him, too.
He's a tough guy--no question. Zachary can mean mug with the best of them. But so far he's never too tough to seek a post-game snuggle from his mother.
No matter who is looking.
You know? He's just a leader and not a follower. And I watch him and learn from him every single day. I really do. I am in constant awe of his self image.
Yeah.
Happy birthday, my strong baby boy. On this, your seventh birthday, I resolve to do all in my power to keep you whole and, just like the number seven, divisible by nothing but the number one.
Yeah.
***
Happy Wednesday.
Every year on Zachary's birthday I revisit this post--the birth story of Zachary's arrival in 2006. Enjoy it if you haven't before. And hey--revisit it if you don't feel like folding laundry yet. :)
Saturday was amazing. It was the first weekend that mother nature had gotten the September memo and put that tiny bite of fall into the morning air. And it was perfect because nothing says "football season" like that kind of weather. The kind you tailgate in or the kind that makes you wince when you see exuberant frat boys gyrating on fifty yard lines with painted chests.
And so. The BHE (aka Coach Harry) headed out with Zachary a bit early and Isaiah and I joined them in time for the game. And I know I already said it but I need to say it again. The weather was just right. Sunny but cool. Blue-blue skies and this gentle breeze that felt like a song brushing across your face. Something about it all felt magical. I'm not sure why but it did.
Isaiah and I set up our lawn chairs and made ourselves comfortable. We were good fans appropriately dressed in the team colors and fully prepared to hoop, holler and okay, just maybe, trash talk a little bit.
Because in football a little bit of trash talking is allowed. Just nice trash talking.
So yeah. The team bursts through the hand-painted poster and that made me really happy mostly because it's the kind of thing Deanna would have made for Zachary if he asked her. And I remember him once asking why she didn't make him more posters and her saying, "You didn't ask me. Just ask." So after that a monster was created.
Yep.
Zachary didn't necessarily ask anyone to make a poster but he did ask us to wear orange. He also asked if I'd get shirt made with his number on it so that the world would know he was my son. He liked that gesture last year so decided to "just ask" again. He also "just asked" a lot of people to come to one of his games. Uncles. Friends. Even his school principal. He asked just like his auntie instructed. He sure did.
So at this game on this magical day, some of those people got up early and stood out there in that same soft breeze. They, too, had lawn chairs and even orange on. No, no none had their chest painted but still. It was good to see the support. He was especially excited when his two coaches from last year were standing on the sidelines with those coach-y looking folded arms. His chest poked out further. His face got more determined.
Zachary is mostly a cornerback. Yes. Little Zachary. He gets down low and is unafraid to hit or tackle anyone. And it's super exciting to see once you get over the whole seeing your kid jump on top of someone thing. So yeah, my little blocker was more ready than ever. He was beating his pads with his hands and giving chest bumps. It was on.
So all of us were standing on the sidelines or sitting in our lawn chairs smiling and laughing. The coaches with their coach-y armfolds and Isaiah with his iPad. And that play got called and people started running you could hear the pads clapping together like always. But then, something else happened.
Wait. Huh?
The ball was passed to #3 and he slipped and spun out of that pack. Someone dove at him and he shifted his body sideways and outstretched one hand. And got away. Out. Fast. With people chasing behind him as fast as they could. Faster and faster until finally it was clear. No one was going to catch him. At least not this time.
Touchdown.
Now. Picture this. Your first real time running the ball and you make this really dramatic touchdown. But not just with your mom and brother on the sidelines but with your prior coaches who knew you when you were first learning the game and your godfather who held you as a tiny baby when you were dedicated and even some people from your school because you invited them. Imagine all of that and all of them jumping up and down and cheering like crazy in their orange. Then. Envision the best part--your father who happens to be your head coach--losing his mind and being unable to contain his elation.
Can you even get your mind around it?
It was awesome. No. It was more than awesome. It was magical. Really and truly magical.
And you know what? #3 made another touchdown, too. What's even cooler is that his other teammate from last year who was also one of "the little guys" back then scored twice, too. And those coaches from last year who knew them way-back-when were hooping and hollering and jumping up and down. It's so hard to tell through the grills of their helmets but man, oh man were those kids over the moon.
And even though it isn't always about winning and yadda-yadda-yadda, we can all admit that it feels pretty damn good when you do. We talked about how hard those kids and yes, Coach Harry, had worked to get where they were. We shared about how the things he'd learned last year from his other team applied to now and even how running track had strengthened his legs and helped him to run faster. And as we talked about all of those things, I somehow felt less resentful of the time commitment that had gone into all of those things. It was a powerful life lesson of what happens when you just keep working at something until you get better.
Then Isaiah reminded me of one of our "precepts" that we talk about on the way to school each day. These are our "words to live by" that we've been creating and discussing which mostly feels like me talking and him eye-rolling. But, yeah, it turns out that he was listening and reflecting because he said it right then and there.
"The only way to get better at anything is through hard work and not giving up." He recited that precept and then smiled big and wide. And Zachary looked at him and smiled right back because those words were resonating with him.
After the game, we went to our favorite neighborhood Cuban-Spanish spot for lunch. And the boys were recapping the game and talking about Pokemon cards and, for once, something other than Minecraft. Harry and I were chatting and laughing and intermittently holding hands under the table.
"Good Lord. That was SO exciting, wasn't it?" I said.
"Yeah, man. All the boys did so great. But yeah, I had to keep it together when my son ran into that end zone." Harry shook his head and chuckled to himself. "Man."
That last "man" was quiet. He looked a little wistful in that moment and that's when I knew. I knew that even in the midst of all the magic, we were feeling the exact same way at that moment.
"Yeah." I twisted my mouth sideways and felt my eyes starting to prickle a bit. I squeezed my eyes tight and took a deep breath.
Nobody had to say it. We knew.
There was nobody who would have loved this day more than Deanna. No one. She would have likely been yelling so loud that someone on the other team would have asked to have her removed. And when the second touchdown came? Man, please. They would've had to take her away in handcuffs for going so crazy.
Even the coaches from last year remembered. One of them said, "Damn, you know your sister would have been out here crunk!" And I was super glad that he said "crunk" because that word is slang and funny enough to break up any emotion that came from him not only mentioning but remembering Deanna.
Which reminds me. That same coach who only knew my sister from her fancy posters and big booming voice stood solemnly with all of us in that memorial service for Deanna last year. It remains a gesture that I will never, ever forget for as long as I live.
Anyways.
So the day was magical and beautiful but at the same time bittersweet. And, yes, we all agreed that Deanna was there--she was--and that she gave those boys wings. But still. It did kind of hurt that we didn't get to witness her witnessing it. I think that was the part I was the most bummed about.
But you know? The kids talked about Deanna right out in the open. And they weren't sad or wistful or bummed or any such thing. They were eating their quesadillas and saying things like, "Oh man! Auntie would have been SUPER DUPER loud!" and "Auntie probably would have run all the way into the end zone with you!" And they just laughed and laughed.
Which made us laugh, too.
"It's cool that Zachary is still wearing Auntie's lucky number this year, too," Isaiah said with food in his mouth. "That's giving him some good luck, right mom?"
And I nodded and said, "You might be right, bud."
Then they changed the subject but I just sat there thinking about one of Isaiah's precepts from last week.
"Life is good."
"That's it?" I asked.
"Yes, mom. That's my precept. Life is good."
And once I thought more about this beautiful, magical day and my life with these beautiful, magical people who share and create these beautiful, magical memories together, I understood. Isaiah was right. Those were words to live by.
Life is good.
Joy, pain, sunshine, and rain. . . Life is good. It so very is.
"Because it's hard. And 'cause right now I can't."
~ Zachary "Zack" Manning
"Mom? I think when I get a little bit older, like when I'm maybe eight or seven-and-a-half, I want to run the 800. And then, when I get like ten or eleven, I'm want to run the 1500, too."
This was Zachary's declaration that he shared so matter-of-factly from the back seat on our way home from track practice the other day. The same kid whose coach has referred to him as "a natural" when it comes to sprinting and also one who was "made for the 100 and 200 meter races." Yep. The same kid.
"Really, son?" I replied. "That's interesting considering how fast you sprint and how much you like the shorter distances."
"I'm still gonna do the 100 and the 200. And the 400 sometimes or like on a relay," he responded. "The 100 and the 200 are my favorite ones, mama."
I glanced into the rear-view mirror and smiled as I noticed his post-track ritual of pulling his shoes off one at a time. "Are you having fun, Zachary? I mean, with track are you?"
"Yes, mama." He made sure to look directly into the mirror when he said that so I'd know he meant it.
"Good." I was really happy to hear that because that particular day seemed to be an unusually tough practice. The team was running drills and pushing themselves in ways that I don't ever remember being pushed as a kid. And as I sat on the bleachers with the other parents, I was careful to keep my eye on my own little prize out there. Making certain to keep an inventory of his face and body language to make sure it wasn't too much.
But Zachary--or rather "Zack?" He was in his element. 100%.
I kept watching him and began to marvel at how intensely disciplined he is with sports. It's almost like he has a tiny little "Mick" in his ear--like Rocky Balboa had in his face--urging him to keep going and to not quit. His little face gets so determined and focused and, when speaking to his coaches, he is careful and deferential.
We'd gotten a late start that evening so practice was running a little later than usual. The kids, ranging from kindergartners up to middle schoolers, were starting to get cranky. A few of the smaller ones had already melted down and were whining in ways that were completely age-appropriate. Finally, the coach dismissed the little ones and instructed the seventh and eight graders to do one more 400 around the track before leaving. "And push it!" he added as they took off.
A few moments later, from the corner of my eyes I saw Zack and another little girl on his team talking to each other while finishing the last chug-o-lugs from their water bottles. The other little kids were already over to the bleachers with their parents and preparing to leave. I started gathering my things--an iPad, a medical journal, and People magazine--and getting ready to take off, too. I bent down to tie my own shoe and then slung Zachary's backpack over my shoulder. With a yawn, I squinted my eyes to make out what was taking my child so long to join his departing peers.
And then, this.
Those able-bodied seventh and eight graders had made that final curve and were flying down the track on the last 100 meters of that last lap. It was a beautiful sight . . . really. The work they'd been putting in was underscored in their both their envious muscle tone and the way they floated across that track like gazelles.
"Bring that chin down!"
"Use your arms!"
"Stretch it out!"
"Push it to the end!"
Those were the things that the coaches were calling out to them and you could see those lithe bodies chastening in response. As each crossed the line, they quickly decelerated and leaned over onto their knees in tripod positions to grab as much oxygen as they could.
"You can't tell those two anything, can you?"
At first, I didn't know what this other mother meant by that. But seconds later, I did.
Two little bodies came bounding around the last stretch of the track, faces forward and arms pumping like tiny pistons. One with three pony tails whipping behind her like kite ribbons and the other? Zachary.
The coaches and all of the older kids started laughing and clapping.
"Bring that chin down, Zack!"
"Use your arms, little mama!"
"Stretch it out, y'all!"
"Push it in, y'all!"
And they did. Those two little ones had made the executive decision to do that last 400 meter run, too.
Their faces were beaming when they finished. The coaches and all of the other kids remaining offered them high fives and slaps on the back. And all of it was really endearing. It was.
So on the way home, like always, Zachary (a.k.a. Zack), chattered about the highs and lows of practice. What's funny is, though this was probably the most demanding of the practices I've taken him to, he seemed to be in higher spirits than ever. Almost euphoric.
"So yeah, mama. I'm gonna run the 800 next year. That's two times around the track, you know. And you can't run as fast as you can at the beginning or you'll get tired. Coach said you have to save it up and then push it at the end."
"I see."
"If you run, like super-duper fast at the beginning, you get too tired then you go slow at the end."
"Makes sense."
"And you really have to save it up if you run the 1500, mama. Like really, really, really save it up!"
"Hmmm."
I drove in silence for a few moments and thought about Zachary and this newfound sport. I wondered the things that parents wonder. . . . like. . .is this too much? Is it fun for him? Am I robbing him of something? Is this worth the time commitment even? I glanced up into the mirror again where I caught Zachary drinking a mini-Gatorade and staring out of the window. His face was content and he looked happy.
Track was something we found because he wanted to do it. "I want to get my wind up for football and basketball," he said to us. That made us laugh, but when he looked hurt by our response, we knew he was serious. This was a calculated plan for him. A part of this innate discipline he seems to possess when it comes to conditioning his body as an athlete.
Even at six years old.
I bit the inside of my cheek and let that marinate for a few seconds. This? The "go hard or go home" mentality? That's something he got more from his father than from his mother. And I smiled at that thought because it's something I've gotten a lot of from him, too.
"Hey Z?"
"Yes, mama?"
"Why do you want to run the 800 or the 1500? You always say that you don't like the longer distances because you like to sprint. Mom is just wondering what made you change your mind and want to run those races, too? The 800 and the 1500?"
"Because it's hard. And 'cause right now I can't."
He took one more swig of the Gatorade, flashed me a big red mustache grin, and went back to looking out of the window.
"Because it's hard. And 'cause right now I can't." Damn.
***
Happy Friday.
Thoughts to chew on: What limits are you pushing? What are you aspiring to do that's hard and that, right now, you can't? Personally? Professionally? Physically? Period?
Now playing on my mental iPod. . . . as a reminder to push it!
P.S. Zachary told me that it's Zack with a 'k' because that's how you spell "track." Ummm, yeah.
Harry: "TWOOOOO MI-NUUUUTTES! Let's go guys! Hustle up!"
Scrambling to the garage to head to the car.
Isaiah: "Ready to rock and roll, Dad!"
Begins to run down the stairs quickly as Zachary dawdles near the door.
Zachary: "Mama?"
Me: "Yes, Toogie?"
Zachary: "Hug please."
Me: "Coming right up!"
*hug*
Next I launched into my daily out-the-door affirmations. . .
Me: "Have a wonderful day, son. Work hard and make good choices, okay? Put on your listening ears and speak up like a young man, alright?"
Zachary: "Yes, Mama."
Me: "And remember: You're the head and not the -- what?"
Zachary: "Tail."
Me: "You're a leader and not a -- what?"
Zachary: "Follower."
Me: "Good." Helping him into his coat and getting his backpack on. "And know that I'm always super proud of you and I love you very, very, very much!"
Zachary: "I know, Mama."
Zachary starts down the garage stairs behind Isaiah and then stops midway.
Zachary: "Mama? Thank you for making me feel like I'm confident."
Me: *swoon*
Zachary: "And you know what, Mama? Confident is when you try to do something and feel like you know you can do it."
Me: "Is that how you feel?"
Zachary: *nods head*
Before I could respond, he scuffled down the steps with his giant backpack bouncing behind him and dove head first into Harry's truck. I stood there watching as the car pulled away. . . feeling glad that my son felt confident and that, without knowing, his words had given me confidence, too.
And off the Manning boys went toward school . . . while the Manning girl went back inside to get some tissues for her leaky eyes.
*sniffle*
***
Now playing on my mental iPod. . . . praying my babies always, always feel this way.
You see I never thought that I could walk through fire
I never thought that I could take a burn
I never had the strength to take it higher
Until I reached the point of no return
And there's just no turnin' back
When your heart's under attack
Gonna give everything I have
It's my destiny
I will never say never (I will fight)
I will fight till forever (make it right)
Whenever you knock me down
I will not stay on the ground
Pick it up, pick it up
Pick it up, pick it up (up up up...)
And never say never
I never thought that I could feel this power
I never thought that I could feel this free
I'm strong enough to climb the highest tower
And I'm fast enough to run across the sea
Cuz there's just no turnin' back
When your heart's under attack
Gonna give everything I have
Cuz this is my destiny
I will never say never (I will fight)
I will fight till forever (make it right)
Whenever you knock me down
I will not stay on the ground
Pick it up, pick it up
Pick it up, pick it up (up up up...)
And never say never
~ "Never Say Never" by Justin Bieber
______________
Let's be clear: I do not really consider myself a Justin Bieber fan. But no, I'm also not one of those people who vehemently denounces him either. Me? Mostly, when it comes to him I say "meh." Justin Bieber is aiight. As for Zachary Charles Manning a.k.a. "The King of Six?" That's a different thing.
Wait.
Maybe I should clarify. Zachary Charles Manning isn't exactly a huge overall Bieber fan or anything. He's a one or two song kind of guy when it comes to most artists and that includes the Biebs. But -- let me tell you -- if someone could get my son a ticket to a concert where Justin Bieber stood on a stage and sang nothing but "Never Say Never" over and over and over and over again on a horrific loop (preferably the Kidz Bop version) -- my Zachary would be THERE, do you hear me? There.
And so. Since my baby boy had a birthday last week, I had no choice but to torture you with this song. He also recently recorded himself performing it on the MacBook photobooth -- which makes it just that much more music-lyric-Monday-worthy.
Uhh, yeah.
Can I just say something to you about my youngest child? That boy? He has enough swagger for every single person reading this blog. One day he wore a lavender shirt to school and someone said it was a "girl shirt." Then three other kids joined in to make matters worse. He was in pre-K at the time and do you know what he said in response? Here's what he said:
"That's a really DUMB thing to say. My daddy has light purple shirts and even a pink shirt. I'm a boy so it's a boy shirt. That's really dumb."
And with that, he turned and walked away. In his light purple shirt.
Boo-yow! In yo' face!
Was that swag or what?
I just love this little clip of him because it is so, so, so Zachary. Anyone who knows him can attest to this fact. Almost never worried about what someone will think or say. Dancing like nobody's watching and not caring that everyone is. In fact, I walked in on the end of this recording -- you can even see when he catches me looking -- but then he goes straight back to what he was doing. Such a strong self image and identity to be so young. There is so much I admire about that part of him . . . .and I pray that nothing ever takes that spirit away from him.
Especially me.
The minute you see this little video, you'll thank me for the real lyrics. Ha. By the way--you can't see the video if you are on a smart device since I loaded straight from iPhoto. Sorry about that. (Trust me, it's worth going to your computer for.)
This? If you don't know what "swagger" is, you will after watching this. Ha.
Yes, sir. That's my baby. The King of Six, kickin' it acapella.
Can I please tell you that this was video #1 of like five trillion? People. Don't teach your children how to use the MacBook or iMac photobooth. It's dangerous (but hilarious.)
Have an awesome week. May your swagger be on a hundred-thousand-trillion and may you never say never.
***
Happy Monday.
And here's the real video to the song that will unfortunately be as in your head as it is in all of ours in this house. You're welcome.
Marcher to your own drum.
Dancer to your own beat.
Singer of your own lyrics.
Follower of your own heart.
This is you, my baby boy. Yes. This is you.
It amazes me that I once feared that my heart couldn't love a second child as much as the first. But I was wrong. So very wrong. The heart makes room. Yes, it does.
This morning I looked at you laughing in the hallway still in your pajamas. Breakdancing, pop-locking and singing with your raspy, crackling voice at the top of your lungs. No shame in your game. Nope, not you. Never that. I looked at you and thought, "Wow. I couldn't love you more if I tried."
No, I could not. But don't worry because I'll keep trying to every single day.
***
Happy sixth birthday, baby boy. Guess I'll go and read your birth story again in honor of your special day.
They are old friends. But more than that, they are siblings. These two go way back like car seats--all the way to Boppy pillows in the infant room at their very first daycare. Cooing and babbling like it was a full conversation. They went through a total of three early childhood education centers together and something about knowing each other since before they even had words created a special bond between them. He used to always refer to her as one of his "old friends" because I'd once described a childhood friend that way. Then I sang him that song about how one is silver and the other is gold. From then on, he designated her that way because, to him, she is gold.
But then one day they decided that they were not only golden old friends but "brother and sister" instead. And let me tell you--once they decided that, there was no arguing with them. At all. She even wanted to include a picture of Zachary on her "family tree" poster for a kindergarten project last week. And became downright red in the face when someone suggested she shouldn't since he wasn't her "real" brother.
She won. Because, to her, that is her brother. And everything about that is real. Zachary would tell you the very same thing.
Now they go to different schools, live in different neighborhoods, and have always had a few other, perhaps more obvious, differences, too. But none of that matters to them. It never has. Because to them, they are family. Brother and sister. Sister and brother. The real kind.
It's as simple as that.
Zachary looks out for her. She looks out for him. They talk in a language that is, at times, not understandable by anyone but them. Their jokes make sense only to them which is fine since neither would let you in on it anyway. And sharing with each other? That's a no brainer. Whether it's a cookie or crayons, what belongs to one will belong to both. (Which if you know my Zachary is saying a whole lot.) Now that I think of it, the only fight Zachary ever got in during his preschool years occurred when he thought someone was treating his sister unfairly. He put up his dukes and made it clear that he wasn't having it. No way, no how.
So here they are yesterday. Scooting on scooters on a humid summer night. Laughing and talking in their own language. And doing the things that siblings do.
No matter how young you are, you can learn to be a friend. A real, true friend even. And the sooner we realize the importance of preserving the ones that are are gold, the richer our lives become.
(At least, that's what I think.)
Ain't they lucky?
***
Happy Sunday.
And now playing on my mental iPod. . .a song and a scene from one of my favorite books and soundtracks of all time. Do you guys remember "Free to Be You and Me?" I read it to my kids often and have given them the gift of this collection of stories and songs just as my mother did for us. This song is "Sisters and Brothers" and was performed by The Voices of East Harlem in 1974. The talking part with Marlo Thomas and some kids comes before the song on this clip--stay with it to hear the awesome song that I can't stop hearing in my head. If you grew up in the 70's and 80's like I did, this will warm your heart. Enjoy--and go straight to Amazon to order Free to Be You and Me for your kids if you don't already own it!
Honestly? I write this blog to share the human aspects of medicine + teaching + work/life balance with others and myself -- and to honor the public hospital and her patients--but never at the expense of patient privacy or dignity.
Thanks for stopping by! :)
"One writes out of one thing only--one's own experience. Everything depends of how relentlessly one forces from this experience the last drop, sweet or bitter, it can possibly give."
~ James Baldwin (1924 - 1987)
"Do it for the story." ~ Antoinette Nguyen, MD, MPH
Details, names, time frames, etc. are always changed to protect anonymity. This may or may not be an amalgamation of true,quasi-true, or completely fictional events. But the lessons? They are always real and never, ever fictional. Got that?
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