Three's team won the championship!
For the second year in a row, the Captain and Three advanced to the finals and won a hard-fought contest. We are excited for all the boys, especially the ones that had never played on a team before this season. I am especially proud of my guys, who have been together as coach/dad and player/son since third grade. It hasn't always been easy.
Life with Three has been a challenge, like assembling a jigsaw puzzle. The picture on the box looked fairly straightforward, but when we opened it up, it was missing a few key pieces. Three was speech-delayed, which we've learned is an indicator for other disorders. He had sensory issues, which primarily presented themselves in a steadfast refusal to wear anything other than track pants. He was nervous in new situations, which became belligerence as he aged. He was self-centered, but had no self-awareness, so it was impossible to have a logical discussion about his behavior.
Three began missing school days in third grade, and by fifth I could not get him through the schoolhouse door. We had witnessed his anxiety, but didn't recognize it by that name. We just found it infuriating, because, well, Three looked normal. He didn't have any of the physical difficulties of One, or the social awkwardness. He seemed fairly well-adjusted, except for the constant battles to get him to batting instruction ("I don't need anyone telling me what to do. And they think I suck."), football practice ("My ankle/wrist/back/hurts/ I think I'm concussed."), or religious education ("I don't know anyone in my class.").
Three is a natural athlete, talented in any sport he chooses to play. He could be a great athlete, if he were willing to work at it. Which has generally not been the case. In the past, this drove his father crazy. But when Three's anxiety finally overtook him and he wasn't able to attend school for four months, the Captain had an awakening. Youth sports weren't that important anymore. Whatever Three decided to play was fine, even soccer. When they were paired again during basketball, the Captain and Three decided to treat each other as coach and player, which worked out better than father and son.
Over the next few years, Three's attendance at school improved. He joined the chorus, and performed in the school musical. He gave up football, which made us all happy, but continued with soccer, baseball, and basketball. This year he joined a spring youth basketball league, and plays for a coach he had never met. Impressed by his skill, the coach invited Three to attend a clinic he was hosting at the New Jersey Nets training facility. It was a last minute invitation, and most of Three's teammates were away for spring break. The Captain and I were astonished when he said he would attend. Alone. In the past, we wouldn't have even told him about the opportunity.
Next week, Three will return to the eighth grade, and juggle his weekly commitments of homework, play rehearsal, baseball games, and league basketball. He's expressed an interest in attending a six-week advanced skills clinic run by one of the top high school basketball coaches in the state. We're so impressed by his recent dedication to the sport, we're willing to fork over the cash.
He has not missed a day of school this year.
Three is growing up. He is still goofy, even more so when his ADHD meds wear off at the end of the day. He still acts irrationally, but apologizes to me when he crosses the line, because he can now see the line. Recently, we talked to him about getting a job as a caddy, and his initial reaction was dismissive.
"I don't know anything about golf. And I don't want a job where I have to meet new people."
"Three, you need to recognize how far you've come," I said. "You went to a clinic where you knew two people walking through the door. You led your team to a championship even though you'd hurt your elbow. You're at school every day. There's no limit to what you can achieve in life."
After a pause he said, "You're right, mom. I was telling a girl my life story the other day, and her dad overheard the conversation. He told her I was a keeper."
We agree.
Three is a natural athlete, talented in any sport he chooses to play. He could be a great athlete, if he were willing to work at it. Which has generally not been the case. In the past, this drove his father crazy. But when Three's anxiety finally overtook him and he wasn't able to attend school for four months, the Captain had an awakening. Youth sports weren't that important anymore. Whatever Three decided to play was fine, even soccer. When they were paired again during basketball, the Captain and Three decided to treat each other as coach and player, which worked out better than father and son.
Over the next few years, Three's attendance at school improved. He joined the chorus, and performed in the school musical. He gave up football, which made us all happy, but continued with soccer, baseball, and basketball. This year he joined a spring youth basketball league, and plays for a coach he had never met. Impressed by his skill, the coach invited Three to attend a clinic he was hosting at the New Jersey Nets training facility. It was a last minute invitation, and most of Three's teammates were away for spring break. The Captain and I were astonished when he said he would attend. Alone. In the past, we wouldn't have even told him about the opportunity.
Next week, Three will return to the eighth grade, and juggle his weekly commitments of homework, play rehearsal, baseball games, and league basketball. He's expressed an interest in attending a six-week advanced skills clinic run by one of the top high school basketball coaches in the state. We're so impressed by his recent dedication to the sport, we're willing to fork over the cash.
He has not missed a day of school this year.
Three is growing up. He is still goofy, even more so when his ADHD meds wear off at the end of the day. He still acts irrationally, but apologizes to me when he crosses the line, because he can now see the line. Recently, we talked to him about getting a job as a caddy, and his initial reaction was dismissive.
"I don't know anything about golf. And I don't want a job where I have to meet new people."
"Three, you need to recognize how far you've come," I said. "You went to a clinic where you knew two people walking through the door. You led your team to a championship even though you'd hurt your elbow. You're at school every day. There's no limit to what you can achieve in life."
After a pause he said, "You're right, mom. I was telling a girl my life story the other day, and her dad overheard the conversation. He told her I was a keeper."
We agree.
