Then again, if Heather was standing here, I’m pretty sure she’d already be directing the conversation back toward April’s forgotten homework.
“Speaking of working hard…” I nod toward the textbook, thankful for the easy segue. “How is the homework going? And how is school, in general, these days?”
It’s like I’ve flipped a switch. Her bright expression immediately dims, and her shoulders slump a little as she looks over at her work and sighs.
“It’s fine. Math isn’t that hard, just boring. And everything else about school is okay, I guess.”
It’s obvious that she isn’t giving me the full story, but I can understand that. Just like I can understand how she obviously doesn’t want to put any extra worry or stress on her mom’s shoulders.
What she may not realize is that Heather has strong shoulders. Damn strong. And I’m here to lighten the load however I can.
“You know,” I say, leaning forward like I’m sharing a secret. “School was hard for me when I was your age too.”
April looks like I’ve just sprouted a second head. “Really? But you’re like… you. You’re good at everything.”
I laugh. “I’m good at hockey, and that’s only after a lifetime of practicing. But I wasn’t always like this. When I was a kid, I was sick a lot. I had to spend a lot of time in the hospital, which meant I missed a ton of school. When I was able to go to class, I felt so different from the other kids.” I pause for a second as those memories of being isolated and alone come back so vividly that it could’ve happened just yesterday. “I missed out on a lot of activities and friendships because I was always at doctor’s appointments or too weak to participate in things.”
“I can’t picture you being sick all the time. You only eat healthy things and you work out for half the day, every day.”
“It wasn’t like having a cold. I had something called aplastic anemia. It meant my body couldn’t make enough healthy blood cells.” I try to explain it in terms she’ll understand. “I was tired all the time, and I got sick really easily. The doctors didn’t think I’d ever be able to play sports or do the kinds of things other kids did.”
April’s eyes have gone wide. “But you became a hockey player. Like, the best hockey player.”
“It took a long time and a lot of work. But yeah, eventually I got better and stronger.” I lean forward a little so I can look directly into her eyes. “The point is, feeling different or left out doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with you. Sometimes it just means you haven’t found your people yet.”
April nods, but I can tell the words haven’t really hit home for her. And I know firsthand how hard it is to be nine years old and convinced that your people aren’t out there, or that they don’t exist at all.
“You know what I used to tell myself when I was feeling left out or different? Or when those doctors told me I’d probably never be able to play sports?”
She shakes her head.
“I’d say, ‘Nobody else gets to decide how I feel about myself. That’s my job.’”
The words come so easily, even though I haven’t said them aloud in decades. “It meant that other kids could be mean or ignore me. It could feel like the whole world was against me, and nobody understood how I felt. But I was the only one who got to decide if I was worth something. And I always decided I was.”
She cocks her head as her smile creeps back in, and for the first time since we started talking about school, she looks genuinely happy. Maybe even hopeful.
“Nobody else gets to decide how I feel about myself,” she repeats, nodding along as she tests the affirmation for herself. “That’s my job.”
“Exactly. And you’re pretty good at your job, if I do say so myself.”
“Mom!” She looks past me toward the kitchen doorway, beaming from ear to ear now. “Did you hear what Grant just told me? Nobody else gets to decide how I feel about myself. That’s my job!”
I turn to see Heather standing there, fresh from the shower if her damp hair and soft pink bathrobe are any indication. From the expression on her face, I’m pretty sure she’s been listening for at least the last few minutes of our conversation.
“That’s really good advice, sweetheart.”
Our eyes meet across the kitchen and there’s so much gratitude there, but also a warmth that makes me want to keep looking at her and never look away.
She moves to stand behind April’s chair and reaches out to smooth her daughter’s hair. “I hope you’re not keeping Grant from getting settled in. He just got home from a long trip.”
“Not at all,” I say, standing up from my own chair. “I was actually thinking I could make dinner for all of us. If you’re hungry, I mean.”
Heather blinks, looking surprised. “You don’t have to do that. I can throw something together for April and myself. You must be exhausted.”
“I want to. Besides, you just organized a successful work event. You deserve to have someone else handle dinner.”
A soft pink color spreads from her neck to her cheeks. “You’re going to spoil me if you keep this up.”
