Month: October 2019

Behavior To Be Proud Of

Posted on by Wendy Kennar
My little firefighter. Halloween 2013.

 

For the first several years of his life, my son didn’t want to go trick-or-treating.

Actually, for the first couple years of his life, we just didn’t take him. He was a baby. He didn’t eat candy.

But then Ryan got older, understood the idea of dressing up in a costume, and he still didn’t go trick-or-treating. Because he didn’t want to. 

One year we asked if he simply wanted to show our next-door neighbors his costume. He said no.

Now, though, we visit the homes of our closest neighbors each Halloween. Ryan always greets them with an enthusiastic “trick-or-treat” and says goodbye with a heartfelt “thank you.” 

Then we come home and sort the loot into three piles. A pile for Ryan. A pile for my husband. And a pile to donate. Some years the donated candy goes with my husband to work to be shared with his co-workers. Some years, Ryan and I take the donated candy to our local fire station. 

For Ryan, trick-or-treating has never been about the candy. Though chocolate is always available in our home, Ryan just isn’t a big candy-eater.

Likewise, Ryan didn’t learn that visiting Santa Claus meant asking for gifts until he was 5 years old.

We never told him. 

We visited Santa at the mall. Exchanged pleasantries. Wished him a Merry Christmas, and were on our way.

It wasn’t until Ryan was in kindergarten, waiting in line for his turn to take a photo with Santa, when one of Santa’s “elves” asked Ryan what he was planning to ask Santa to bring him for Christmas. 

Ryan looked at me in confusion. This was a brand new concept. Because up until then, we had always stressed the spirit of the season. The music. The decorations. The joy in finding the candle with the best fragrance for Grandma.

Ryan always received presents. Many presents. But they were always surprises. Nothing he had ever specifically asked for. 

Until that year. 

And even now, Ryan never asks for things he wouldn’t get. His requests are always reasonable. 

It makes me proud that as parents, my husband and I are raising a son who isn’t focused, first and foremost, on what people will give him (whether it’s Halloween candy or Christmas gifts). 

 

A Dangerous Question

Posted on by Wendy Kennar
My strong boy!

It’s been a tough couple of weeks for our family.

My eleven-year-old son, Ryan, was sick. 

Sick as in 103-degree-fever sick. 

Sick as in 2 different visits to the pediatrician’s office for same-day appointments.

Sick as in 3 absences from school.

Thankfully, it wasn’t anything more than a bad viral infection.

I am very relieved to say that he is feeling better. 

But in the midst of all that, of sitting on the bed together, of reading on the couch together, Ryan asked, “Why me?”

I tried to give him the scientific answer. He must have touched a doorknob, a chair, a stack of papers at school that had a germ on it, and the germ was passed on to him when he touched his face, scratched his nose, wiped his mouth. 

He wanted me to ask the pediatrician, and he got the same answer.

But back at home, as I smoothed the hair away from his forehead, he asked me again, “Why me?”

Why Ryan, indeed. 

There is no answer for that. 

Why Ryan? 

A boy who, just this week, earned a very high report card. A boy who, during parent conferences, a teacher told us, “You know, I wish I had 30 more just like him.” 

Why Ryan?

A boy who has already been described as “having a good heart,” by a coordinator at his middle school. An adult who has only known Ryan since August, but has already observed his good, kind ways.

It’s a dangerous question. Because there is no answer.

In the beginning, I used to ask the same question about my autoimmune disease. “Why me?”

For a while, I thought I was being punished. 

Then I thought I was being tested.

Now, I’m wiser (hopefully), and I know there is no point in asking “Why me?”

It just is. 

 

An Essay Collection for the Panini Generation

Posted on by Wendy Kennar

Do you remember the “Cathy” comics?

The famous comic strip “ran in newspapers 365 days a year from 1976 to 2010.” Now, the creator of Cathy has written a book. And it was her title, Fifty Things That Aren’t My Fault, that first caught my attention.

I read through this collection of essays and while I didn’t enjoy them all, I did find several to be both amusing and relatable. 

This week, I’d like to share just a few of the “stand-out bits” that resonated with me.

From the essay titled “The Build-A-Boob Workshop”: 

“Yesterday, the Build-A-Bear Workshop. Today, the Build-A-Boob Workshop.” 

(You’ll have to read the entire essay. It’s entertaining and rings oh-so-true!)

 

From the essay titled “Infidelity”:

“I woke up with the exhilarating urge to cheat on my Fitbit fitness tracker.”  

(Which made me think about my own personal essay about “breaking up” with my Fitbit. You can click here to read it.)

 

And the one that just screamed “Wendy,” from the essay titled “I’m Flunking Retirement”:

“They call it the ‘sandwich generation,’ but it seems much more squashed than that. More like the ‘panini generation.’ I feel absolutely flattened some days by the pressure to be everything to everyone, including myself.”

Here’s Why I Have a Complicated Relationship With My Legs

Posted on by Wendy Kennar

Do you have a body part, that only now, a bit later in life, you have learned to genuinely appreciate? A body part you now realize wasn’t nearly as “bad/flabby/unattractive/you-fill-in-the-adjective” as you used to think?

“I have a complicated relationship with my legs, because sometimes they just seem like these “things” that are disconnected from the rest of me.  These limbs that aren’t behaving the way I want them to.  These appendages that are causing me nothing but trouble and pain.”

The paragraph above is taken from my recently published essay “Why My Rare Condition Puts Me in a Complicated Relationship With My Legs.” Click here to be redirected to The Mighty where you can read the essay in its entirety. 

 

Brave? Me?

Posted on by Wendy Kennar
LEGOLAND, March 2018 – Ryan and I were brave, riding the roller coaster!

A neighbor recently called me “brave.”

It temporarily stopped me, because I don’t consider myself a particularly brave person. 

I have lived my entire life within the same ZIP code. 

My first passport expired before I earned a stamp in it. And since then, I’ve had one international trip. 

But my neighbor spoke of my bravery in a different context. 

We were speaking, in very general terms, of my autoimmune disease. 

We were speaking, in very general terms, about my pain level increasing as the day goes on.

Yet, she sees me outside on a regular basis, sweeping my front steps and my back patio. Watering my plants. Going for a walk with my son. 

I don’t regard those activities as “brave.” They are merely the activities that make up a part of my days.

Am I brave? I don’t know. 

So I did what I usually do when I’m not sure about something, when I need more information. I looked it up. I used my computer’s dictionary to read the definition of “brave” – “ready to face and endure danger or pain; showing courage.” 

Am I “ready to face and endure danger or pain”? 

I don’t have a choice. It’s just what I do.