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The final countdown …
Aaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrgggggggg!
Tomorrow is Nic’s last day of required schooling!!!!!
This morning I watched him walk to the car – balancing his necessary items.
Evidently, the last ‘wave from the porch as he walked up the road to the bus stop’ came and went without me knowing it.
Dang it! I missed the opportunity to stand there, misty eyed, reflecting on past waves.
I demand a do-over. I did NOT get the photo op I have waited 12 years for.
Anyway, it feels like only yesterday he was graduating from 8th grade!
And now … the big moment approaches.
I’ve been checking the online grade updates – emailing his teachers – talking to his counselor. “Is there anyway, let’s just say, if Nic totally FLUNKED your final, that he would not pass your class?”
Yes, I’ve been in panic mode. As of this moment he has a 3.0 GPA. But still … you never know.
His gown is hanging in the ‘laundry room’ waiting for me to iron it. That is going to be a kick in the pants. I can iron – I do not like to iron. Add to that, the material looks like it will spontaneously combust the moment it spots an iron in its peripheral vision. I’ll be careful. (Or I’ll just call my mom.)
Do you think Nic would have a problem with me following him around tomorrow at school with my camera?
“Don’t mind me … carry on as you normally would.”
Yeah, I thought so too. 
Unfriended – and a giant fish
For all my growth and new maturity (I say with a modicum of sarcasm) I thought I had let go of a certain resentment. It became very apparent that I have not relieved myself of it – after a couple of small kicks to the teeth last night.
So I’m breaking one rule of confidentiality and I’m going to talk about someone. Oh yeah, I’m gonna. Gird your loins.
I’m even putting a photo up … so other women can take heed. I did blur out the other person in the pic (see, I do still have an edit button.)
Last night:
Nic and I were chatting about his ‘donor’ I won’t give him the noble title of ‘Father’ or ‘dad’ he earned neither.
There is a catchy song on the radio by an entertainer named Mackelmore. When I looked this song up, I was surprised to find he resembled said ‘donor’ when I knew him in the clubs. Only, donor had darker blonde hair and a leather jacket. But, similar looking. See below. That is Mackelmore.
Damien Lewis also reminds me of a young version of donor
I wanted to compare to be sure – as it’s been over 18 years since I saw ‘donor’ young.
I went onto Facebook where I am friends with ‘donors’ mother. I use the term ‘friend’ loosely. I think we only chatted twice. Once she actually asked me to send pictures of Nic? Um …. It’s Facebook – I have a WHOLE BUNCH of photo albums chock-a-block full of pictures of Nic. Click on them woman!
There were 3 pictures of donor in her album. So I typed her name and … nothing. She had unfriended me!!!
Now, the last message I sent to her was just before Nic turned 18. basically saying that it would be the last time I reached out and made an effort. I’ve had this notion from the get go that just because donor didn’t want to be in his son’s life, didn’t mean I should punish Nic’s paternal grandparents. I took him to meet his paternal grandmother as a newborn. She didn’t want to hold him. I took him to say good-bye when I was about to move to Nevada when Nic was in 2nd grade. They took a few Polaroids. The second visit before we left town was met with donor on the couch. (Gee, thanks for giving me the heads up that my son is about to meet his donor with no preparation.)
That was the first and only time that donor and son ever met.
I recall he took Nic out onto the playground as I waited nervously – he introduced him to everyone as his son and then showed him his DJ equipment at his apartment (same complex).
That was it.
Nothing more.
I left town and never saw him again. Never pressed for child support. Never contacted him. He made it very clear he did not want to be a father – so be it.
Now, his mom not only unfriended me … but blocked me. And that ticked me off.
It’s one thing to be a deadbeat dad, but what grandparent doesn’t want to know their grandchild?!?!
If a girl came to me holding a baby and saying it was my sons child – I’d have quite a chat with Nic. Did you have sex with this girl? If so – then there IS a chance this is your child. If you do not believe that to be the case, initiate tests to determine the truth. If it is your child, step up and provide for that child. Emotionally and financially.
Was there ever a conversation about Nic between them I wonder?
So I’m sore about being ‘dissed’ by grandma. Nic says he’ll find him and we start searching the net. He announces “I FOUND HIM!” My boy is a funny guy … on his ipad, in the google search box were just the words “Dead Beat Dad”. Ha ha.
I entered his name … and did find him.
It wasn’t until I saw his smiling, carefree face that I realized how angry I still am.
Not only smiling and carefree, but evidently quite the avid fisherman now (AND reviewing expensive rods and reels on Amazon. That’s just super that you have extra money to spend on your hobby there champ!)
Here is the photo: He’s on the left
I wanted to punch him in the face. I wanted that fish to suddenly pull a Monty Python “I’m not dead yet!” and bite his pointing finger off.
The frustration that I feel seeing him enjoying his life when he walked away from his responsibilities is beyond my ability to describe.
I have been angry a lot of today.
I have to stop – drop and roll. No, that’s for something else …
I have to stop. Breathe. Look at fact.
- I chose not to pursue financial assistance from this man, knowing Nic’s life would be better for not having him in it
- It is donors loss not knowing Nic
- I don’t know if his life has been easy or enjoyable from 1 photo
- I don’t know that he wasn’t eaten by that fish …
What I do know is I have more forgiving to do. Because I’m not there yet on this one.
On a happy note – Nic isn’t phased by any of this. I don’t know where he gets his resilience, but I’m glad he has it. I also hope he has bail money should I ever bump into donor in the future.
Happy Birthday Nicholas
“Twenty years is, after all, a long time. We are not the same people we were. Old friends, lovers, even family members; they are strangers who happen to wear a familiar face. We have no right to claim to know anyone after such a distance …” – Graham Joyce from Some Kind of Fairy Tale
But I do know my son. There has been no distance.
I’ve had some people say to me, “Let him grow up!” As if I haven’t been. Or, “Get your own life” as if I haven’t had one.
Yet, if they found themselves before someone who was suddenly without their partner after 18 years of a constant shared life – would those be the same sentiments offered? “Let them go!” “Get your own life now!”
I would hope not.
Even someone who just lost their pet after so much time would be treated kinder than that.
I know I am not losing my son – but this is the beginning of the end of how things have been for many, many years. And before long, I won’t have the right to say I know him. Not the way I do now.
And that’s as it should be. I know this. I am not stupid.
He was never mine, after all, I merely had the honor of raising him for the world.
I’ve made a lot of mistakes. But I can with utmost certainty look back at my life and my son will never have been one of them.
It has just been he and I for most of these 18 years. And he was my life. Shouldn’t a child be a parents number one priority?
Not putting myself first led me to a happier heart and a wiser soul. I’ll never understand why some children are born into the world to be tolerated and not adored.
Nic was my purpose. And being his mom is my pleasure, not some thief of my own time.
From the moment I felt him kick and hiccup – I loved my baby. I did not want to know the sex. Upon hearing “It’s a son” in the hospital room, March 31st, 1995, I became Nicholas Avery Charles’ mother.
What an amazing experience it’s been!
I remember when I was little wanting to be an archeologist – perhaps a teacher – a writer – a rock star? My interests changed as I grew, but the one constant was knowing I wanted to be somebody’s mom.
This is so hard! My sixth attempt at this post. I haven’t been able to find the right words!
I so wanted this to be the post I look back on as my best. I am writing this to the most important person in my life after all.
I tried just typing, but got so caught up in memories I couldn’t do them justice.
Weighed the options of humor or taking the mushy route and waxing poetic …
Then while reading, the quote I opened with sent me back to the computer.
So, let’s begin.
Nicholas Avery Charles – today you are 18.
You’re on the precipice of something great. You’ll make your way and your own decisions – but you’ll never be alone. I will always be here for you.
I will never stop being your mom.
Never stop wishing the best for you.
Never stop supporting your dreams and goals.
I love you so very much bird.
I’ll try really hard NOT to use the following sentence: “If you want to be treated like an adult, you had better start acting like one!” I hated that.
You don’t suddenly go to bed 17, liking video games, anime and being catered to then wake up 18 with brand new interests and a sudden overnight maturity.
I want to tell you Thank you. Because what you’ve given me just by existing is the largest love I’ve ever known and the most educational experience I’ve ever had, and the strongest bond I’ve ever had with another human being.
Thank you for being my memories, my todays and my hope for the future. I look at you and know that the world will be just fine with people like you in it.
I hope you enjoy the rest of your teens – it’s so odd isn’t it? Technically an adult, still a teenager. It’s hard to know what is expected of you. Well, I personally expect nothing of you. You are right where you are supposed to be, being just who you are meant to be.
There is no right way to be 18.
Make some memories, dream and try not to do anything you’ll wish you could erase upon looking back.
Read books.
Listen to your heart.
Expand your mind.
Have compassion and try not to judge.
Smile and know, you are enough.
Because you are – and you always have been.
And hey … 1,2,3’s and I know you’re not 15 … but I hear this song and think of you. Love you so very very very very much. – Mom. xxxxx
Step 1 of Operation send NIC to the UK
Downloaded, completed and printed passport application.
I have decided to tell myself “Nic is going to England”.
No ‘maybe’, no ‘if I can’.
“Success is sequential, not simultaneous” it says on a white board in our office building … One step at a time for a goal I’ve already decided WILL be realized. 🙂
Little laundry girl
There’s an adorable little girl at the laundromat. She’s sleepy – lids are heavy, but she’s having fun finding laundry carts and pushing them like little shopping carts. The mom is patient with her too. When she dropped her french fries on the ground, she just picked them up. Mom and Grandma are trying to fold 4 dryers worth of clothes.
Not much fun for the little one in adorable pink soft boots.
It makes me smile though, because she’s being a trooper, and her guardians are kind and keeping an eye on her. Of course there are one or two patrons that have cut her the eye because God forbid, she pushed a cart in their path.
It makes me sad – and mad – when little ones are left unattended or yelled at in stores for, well, just being ‘little’. An hour of grocery shopping, or waiting at a bank isn’t that thrilling for us, lets be honest. Imagine sitting in a cart or being told to hush or stay still for that long. Especially when their furtive imaginations and boundless energy longs to be free and to explore.
The one pat on the back I can give myself, is that I loved doing things with Nic when he was little, and put myself in his tiny shoes.
When he babbled in the shopping cart – I leaned into him, responding with things like “Really? Then what happened?” I found endless joy in his curiousity, his mischievious side and took great pains to remain calm when a trip had to be endured even though he was tired and cranky.
I’m looking at little laundry girl and thinking of Nic. If he could just be small, for 24 hours, I would love that. I wouldn’t wish him little again – his life is in motion. But, to hold him one more time – to pick up his spilled food that his tiny hands couldn’t hold on to, to chat with him in the grocery cart. Oh yeah. One day. Just for 1 more day.
Debauchery Soup 