A More-Reflective/Less-Mildly-Amusing Posting

Every once in awhile, something happens that makes you look at someone you think you know in a whole different way. They say something, or do something, and you realize that the person you thought you knew isn't really that person at all. For me, it happens with my kids quite often, which I suppose makes sense because they change so much as they grow older. We'll just be going along in life, and suddenly, something will happen that will make it abundantly clear that they're not the same person I'm holding onto in my memory. With Caitlyn, I remember this happening when I went and watched her perform in a play last year at the UA. Seeing her up on stage - the confidence she had and the ability to become her character and perform so convincingly - it was like seeing a whole different side of her. Just the other day, Carrie was telling us that she was going to be on an Odyssey of the Mind team this year, and Katie asked her how she was going to fit that in with everything else she was doing, and Carrie just said, "I'll make it work," with this quiet sense of conviction, and I realized that she has a sense of self that's very strong and a motivation to push herself to do as much as she can. I'd seen glimpses of these things in the girls before, but those moments cemented them in my mind. And then there's Connor.

We've always known there's a lot going on in Connor's head, but we're never quite sure exactly what it is because he's pretty good at locking it in. When he's sad, he'll make jokes and laugh things off, or he'll hide under blankets in his room. But not today. A couple of weeks ago, he decided he wanted to get gerbils for his birthday. He'd taken care of all the various animals (cat, guinea pigs, tortoise) over the summer, and we were impressed by how responsible he'd been about feeding them and paying attention to them, so we figured he could handle his own pets. Katie suggested he should spend some time learning how to take care of gerbils, so he checked out several books from the library, then spent a week or two reading all about them. Then Katie took him to the pet store and he got two gerbils and brought them home. Even though they're girls, he named them after "GI Joe" characters (Snake-eyes and Storm-something) and every day he's been feeding them and putting them in their little hamster ball so they can roll around the house and generally taking really good care of them. Yesterday, he spent his own money to buy them a fancy new habitat with an "Xtreme spiral slide," a "petting zone," and an "Xtreme wheel" that goes in circles when it rotates. So everything was good.

Then this morning, while I'm reading the paper, Connor comes holding a shoebox. His hands are shaking and his eyes are swollen, and I just know what I'm going to see in the box. One of his gerbils is lying very still, and Connor starts to cry. I'm thinking, "This is the kid who laughed when Barney the dog died. This is the kid who took his grandpa out in the backyard and said in a jovial tone, 'The dog's dead. Dad buried him here. Barney died.' This is the kid who hides his sorrow and laughs off his pain, and now I'm holding him in my arms while his body is shaking and his eyes are overflowing," and pretty soon I'm crying too, and I realize that this scrawny little kid I'm holding isn't the same person he was three months ago. Something fundamental has changed. And I guess that's good. But it's also a little sad.