Seeing Through the Cracks

Chapter 7

As a youngster, Nicholas showed signs of great intelligence and an appetency to learn very early on. It was as though he was always in a race to the finish line to be all grown up. He spoke in full sentences by the time he was just eighteen months old. At age two he demonstrated an impressive physical hand-eye co-ordination. He was active and social, had a voracious love for books and stories, and developed an early love for anything humorous. His sense of humour was not juvenile in nature; he advanced quickly past typical silliness and toilet talk, developing a great comprehension for mature witticism. He often seemed like a miniature version of a witty young man.

While he was still three years old, Nicholas entered Junior Kindergarten. It was a huge day for both of us, but it seemed we were not on the same page with how we each expected his first day of school would play out. I wanted to drive him to school for his send-off, while he wanted to take the school bus. I tried to tell him that the moms always drive their child to school on the very first day, but he was having nothing to do with this argument. We were outside of our house and I was taking his photograph when the big yellow school bus appeared at the end of our very long driveway. Nicholas spotted the bus, and without a moment's hesitation ran down the driveway, his backpack flying up and down, and then jumped onto the bus. I stood there, now pregnant with our second child and feeling very hormonal, and felt deeply disappointed by this abrupt departure. This was not the scene I had imagined. I decided that I would get in my car, drive to the school, and surprise Nicholas when he arrived there. In my state of disenchantment I had fooled myself into believing that this was exactly what he'd want.

The school was just a five-minute ride by car, but the bus needed to make many stops for school children, so I made it there in plenty of time. I stood with great anticipation, believing that this surprise would bring such delight to my little boy. The bus pulled up and the children disembarked, and suddenly there was Nicholas emerging before me. My smile couldn't have been bigger when I saw his little face. He spotted me immediately, walked straight up to me, looked me in the eye with such a serious expression and said, "You can't be here, mom." And then he walked on into the school with the rest of the children, leaving me feeling utterly deflated. In my moment of humiliation, I realized that he was not having any separation issues; it was me who couldn't let go, and I knew immediately that I had nothing to worry about. I needed to cut this invisible umbilical cord between us and give him this space to grow on his own. I had just had my first harsh lesson in his need for autonomy.

The birth of his baby brother, Jake, was one of great delight. Nicholas was nurturing and kind, and from the moment he was made a big brother, he took to his role with great responsibility. There were many times that I would say to him, "Let me be the parent," as he always wanted to be the one to lead the way, set the example, and take care, literally, of his brother's every need. The two of them bonded with intensity so unfamiliar to me that I often felt a mix of delight and bewilderment at their relationship. My own three brothers were constantly, as children, fighting with each other. This experience was also new to some of the other mothers. They would often comment on the tight relationship that these two brothers shared and about how Nick was such a nurturing soul. Their surprise and comments led me to realize just how special this alliance was.

Demonstrating his maturity and need for independence was a constant for Nicholas. In grade one, at our first parent-teacher interview, we were informed that our son was doing exceptionally well for a December-born child. The teacher went on to say that she had late-in-the-year birthday students that she cried for because they couldn't keep up, and Nicholas was definitely not one of them. This was a relief for me, especially now that I had a second child to care for, and another indication of that sense of urgency to move on that Nicholas possessed.

Soon we shortened his name to Nick, as Nicholas didn't seem quite grown up enough to fit. He played hockey, soccer, and tennis, and thrived in athletic activity; eventually tennis became the dominant sport and many hours were spent at the courts with practices, coaching, and competitive matches. Elementary school seemed a good fit for Nick; academic studies came with reasonable ease. His core French teacher approached me one day while I was volunteering in the school, and expressed her delight at Nick's interest and comprehension in her class. I later spoke with Nick about this and he was pleased, telling me how much he loved learning French at school. He then bravely made the jump to enter middle school for grade six to participate in the Extended French program; a time when most of his classmates were remaining in the elementary school in our neighbourhood.