Once I Was Seven Years Old...

Once I was 7 years old

My momma told me:

Go make yourself some friends or you'll be lonely

I was yesterday driving back after taking my son to his weekend Chinese school. As half of his ancestry is Chinese, I want him not to forget or lose connection with that half of his heritage, and so he spends a couple of hours each Sunday there. As a young child, he was somewhat resistant - what little boy wants to spend time at the weekend in a class room when just beyond the glass is a world of slides, swing sets, and round-a-bouts? As he's gotten a bit older, he's much more keen on the idea. But this is really a story for a different day

Among the many ads on the radio (why do the stations seem to co-ordinate the times that they will all run the same "Come to Mattress Firm for 3 years same as cash on a new Stearns and Foster" at the same time? I am sure that there are 'big data' being deployed to help), a somewhat catchy, if cheesy pop song called "Once I Was 7" appeared. I'd not heard it before; it's not a great song, but the lyrics provide some introspection, and the little chiming bell sounds bring a bit of poignancy.

The singer - Lukas Graham - describes the views of a person at seven, 11, 20, 30, and then 60. At seven, advice given from a parent to make friends. At 30, having left some of those friends behind as time passes. And then at 60, looking somewhat cynically backwards, wondering if his own children will come to visit from time to time. 

Go and make yourself some friends, or you'll be lonely

Our son this year has reached and left behind two of the mile-posts at seven and now 11. He's entered middle school, and moved to a new school in our Noe Valley neighbourhood. 

We've moved about a bit in his brief life - it's been an adventure, first in the Bay Area, then suburban New York, on to Paris, and now back in San Francisco. While providing many new experiences and opportunities, our somewhat peripatetic lifestyle has meant more than a few hellos and goodbyes for our son.

I had some thoughts last year about how at times as a parent, you catch glimpses of your own life's experiences in shadows that the dance of your child's life cast on the wall:

One cannot help see in your child flickering glimpses of the past - of the road taken, how it played out.  But also, of the choices not made. 

Some of those choices turned out well, but not all of them. And therein lies one of the most difficult challenges of being a parent. 

When you see an opportunity where a collision is (almost surely) down the road, when do you choose to act? Are some lessons worth learning (a second time), and which are best so that the learning is virtual rather than real? 

When I was younger, my own personality could have been accurately described as aloof. 

I've never been an extrovert, and have struggled virtually my entire life trying to socialise with strangers. "Making friends" was never a long suit, though I always have recognised it as an extremely valuable strength. Just not one that I have.  I'd like to think that I'm much better - more "friendly and outgoing" now than I was, but still, my wife is the gregarious one in our family. And I'm not a close second. 

As a kid, my older brother was far, far more naturally personable - many friends, homecoming king in high school. It all looked so easy from my side of the virtual window peering in. 

Being able to "fit in" is an extremely valuable life lesson; one I've tried to instill in my own son, with mixed results.

As Alastair began his school year a few weeks ago, I tried to counsel him that he is in a new school, and the move provides one of those rare opportunities in life to re-invent yourself. No one really knows you. There is no backstory. No written pages. No defined role that you have to play. He is in a sense, free to make his own story again.

(As a kid, we moved on a few occasions, and each time, I had more or less the same chance).

Marins des eaux douces

I dropped him at his school this morning, as I do most mornings, on my way to catch the train to work. A couple of his classmates greeted him, smiling. "Hi Alastair! How was your weekend?" He seems to be making friends in his own quiet way. He's not lonely.

Alastair's mother is far more gregarious than I am - someone who, growing up, easily made friends. That was never my long suit, and I guess our son is more me than her at this point. He's unlikely to ever be, like my brother was, the type to be Homecoming King and the life of the party.

And as time goes by, I think it's OK. He makes his small circle of friends, as I did. And he's happy in his place with the friends he has, and with his books and his stories.

Sailing on the sea of adolescence is difficult. Which way should I go? Are those storm clouds over there? If I get into trouble, who on my 'crew' can help? We all navigate these situations that are not, as the French say, "eaux douces." 

I worried a lot when our son was seven about making friends. At 11, I am less worried that he's going to be lonely, however.