Play the Game Tonight

Up until about 4:15 p.m., this was a pretty good day.

Afterwards? Not so much.

Some disappointing news on the job front led me out into the afternoon toward pick up duty for Betty and Boo. I was not (to put it mildly) in the mood to argue with my offspring about my choice of dinner selections (yes, we're having pasta again; deal with it) nor anything else for that matter.

Which is how I almost missed what greeted me at summer camp.

I walked into a scene that would have been unimaginable not all that long ago - but one that I almost allowed my temporary frustration and my festering anger to allow me to miss. There, on a carpet with half a dozen (at least) other kids and teacher, was my son.

Playing a game.

But wait, you guys. Wait.

It gets better.

"Mom," he says. "Can I finish up this game before we go?"

Can you?

CAN YOU?

You're damn right you can, kiddo.

As I said, the magnitude of this didn't register with me until after I drove (just so) slightly over the speed limit to the summer camp, Bruce Springsteen's "Lonesome Day" blaring from my car speakers at top volume.

Until after I banged the pots and pans together to boil rigatoni and microwave tomato sauce, because that's all I could muster up the brainpower for as dinner. Until after I poured myself a glass of Merlot and then another.

Until after I sat myself down on the deck to talk sensibly to The Husband and get my game face on for another day.

Sometimes it takes us a little while to realize what's important, what's right there in front of us.

My kid sat down with others and PLAYED A GAME TODAY.

What did it take for that to happen, I wondered. How many years, how many therapy sessions, how many teachers? How much work?

If he can do that, overcome all those odds which were surely stacked against him, then surely I can overcome mine.

Game on.


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