His sister talked early, read early, wrote early. She charmed us all. Just as it is with most second children, he didn't work as hard because he didn't have to. He told us he would learn his ABC's when he started pre-k, and he did. There was a chance that he wouldn't be let into the pre-school because he wasn't yet toilet trained, but that happened as soon as he found out it was a condition of starting school. Then he said he would learn to read when he started kindergarten, and he did that. He made up stories but didn't write them down, because his sister wrote them for him, and he supplied the drawings.
We knew he was smart, the way parents know their kids are smart, the way his sister was smart. There was an odd intensity, though. He was in his own head much of the time, what could be called daydreaming, although it wasn't to the point that he would withdraw from us. At some point he learned how to do cartwheels and would spend what seemed like hours in the backyard doing cartwheels. That turned into what we soon called "bouncing," where he would seem to throw himself from one place to another, again seeming to be wrapped (or rapt) in his own thoughts. He bounced in the yard, and in the house, and as he grew bigger, I would from time to time resort to yelling to him to "stop BOUNCING!"
In school he had a knack for being in the wrong place at the wrong time, and then not having a clue why he was in trouble. The other kids that had begun whatever trouble it was had known to stop when the teacher showed up, but not my son. He was in the wrong place at the wrong time in his first year of high school and ended up getting arrested (a lie by a school bully and no clue as to how to defend himself). The charges got thrown out, as did the bully by the end of that school year.
My son had a strong sense of right and wrong, and would not be pushed around. That got him a punch in the nose and a detention in middle school, although the teacher that witnessed the altercation totally supported him for defending himself against the other kid. It was his refusal to be pushed around that led to the false accusations that got him arrested in high school. To this day he has strong feelings about justice, although since his arrest he has learned not to physically push back.
When we learned he wasn't just smart but brilliant I don't think we were surprised. It was just a part of who he was. He had his father's ability to recall details, and I imagine he spent a lot of time thinking about the way things worked. I can only imagine that, because he didn't talk about it. I do take responsibility for not fostering a desire for adventure, for the urge to experiment.
When we moved south he was not yet eight and I decided I would remedy my overly cautious parenting. I bought an old phone at Goodwill and told him he could take it apart. We sat at the kitchen table and he took up some tool or other. He touched something in that phone and got such a shock that he ended up on the floor. I believe that was the last time I tried to encourage him to throw caution to the wind.
In fact, during a summer research program after his first year at Harvard he showed me his research lab and I am ashamed to say that my overriding impulse was to tell him to be careful. I am an idiot.
But he has adapted his genius to his upbringing and is pursuing a career in theoretical research. And he continues not to talk much, to me. I was surprised the first time I heard him engaged in a telephone conversation with his sister. He paced around the house and talked non-stop.
He doesn't do that with me. In fact, I send him emails which he mostly ignores. Unless I ask him a practical question, for example about my computer, which he may answer, but in five words or less. And he ignores follow-up questions, so I need to get it right the first time.
I don't know how to feel about my son. I get angry and frustrated that he doesn't have any desire to talk to me. I have absolutely no clue what he thinks of me, or who he thinks I am. We have comedy and movies in common. We share much the same political views. He is learning to cook and seems to enjoy it. But we rarely talk about any of that. When he came home for longer than a few days we would do an elaborate cooking project together, but he's never here long enough anymore.
He doesn't tell me when he plans to see me until shortly before I see him, and no explanation from me of how I need to know if he is coming so that I can plan will move him any faster. I don't know if he comes to see me because he wants to or because he feels obligated, or because he has no better offer. I do know that when I see him he doesn't say much. It is awkward. At first I tell myself that's just the way he is, and I go about my business. But then I wrestle with feelings of insecurity, because it appears not only do my grown children not need me, they no longer care whether they see me or not. They don't seem to like me much. And then I get angry. And after it's all over, I berate myself for making a big deal out of it, so I get to feel bad about myself all over again.
Since Christmas, when my son graced me with his presence (and his silence) for a few days, I have gotten one brief email from him in response to several I sent him. I asked a computer question and then a personal question (how are you doing...). He responded to the computer question. Follow up emails went unanswered.
So now I wonder whether I should call him or not. On rare occasions (I know we both remember them because he referred to them during our argument at Christmas) we have had engaging conversations, but mostly it feels like pulling teeth. And I don't want that.
I want us to talk freely, because that is what I usually do. I assume that if we are not talking freely that: 1) it is because he doesn't want to talk to me, and 2) that it is my own fault.
And then a part of me says that I would never, ever try so hard to maintain such a frustrating relationship with anyone else in the world.
But he is my son, and I recall him bouncing in the backyard, and telling stories that his sister would write down. And I even remember him on my lap, and I remember hugging him and making him laugh, and laughing with him.
So I keep trying.
