Indiana Jay and the Raiders of the Lost Cause

Posted in Mom Stuff
by besttech

Genevieve Hinson

GenevieveHinson.com

Obstinate, this kid was obstinate. When Jay has his mind set it was pointless to push. He wouldn’t budge, not anymore than the Hoover dam would budge if I pushed, kicked or wailed on it. I knew this, but I argued with him anyways.

“It’s taken you two years to get here. There are ways to compromise.”

“No.”

“We can trim parts of it and with the hat on you’d never know the difference.”

“I’d prefer if you called it by its actual name.”

“What?”

“The hat. It’s a fedora.”

“Okay, a fedora.” I let out a dramatic sigh and rolled my eyes. “Listen, if we go to the stylist and have them trim the back …”

“Mother.” Jay’s voice was sharp.

Uh oh, Jay busted out the formal title for mom. He had hit a point of exasperation. I knew that feeling — It was the same kind that prompted me to call him by his first, middle and last name at a high rate of speed when our roles were reversed.

“Look at the picture.” He pointed to the computer monitor he had been surfing on while we were in conflict. A photo of Harrison Ford, as Indiana Jones, with very short hair smiled back at me.

“So you’re telling me it’s taken you two years of growing your hair — because you wanted it long like that rock guy and so you could head bang more appropriately — you’re going to buzz it off for the new movie’s opening day?”

“Yes.”

“You know by this time next year, it’d be down your back. If you cut it now, it’ll take you four years to get it where you want it again.”

“Yes, I know.”

I was stumped. What else could I argue? Jay had his mind made up he was going to cut off his glorious rocker locks for to match his favorite character’s closely cropped look.

ACCEPTANCE

Racks of jeans surrounded me. Jay didn’t want to come along shopping for his clothes, but I insisted. He stood in the main aisle aggravated and waiting.

I grabbed a pair of black pants and lifted them up. “Do you like these?”

Jay crossed his arms, “Yeah, sure.”

Earlier in the day, I attended an IEP (individual education plan) meeting at Jay’s school. Among other recommendations, specific to his education, was an explicit one by the autism specialist: If Jay dressed more in style, like the other kids, it would help him fit in. It would help his ‘first’ impression.

That afternoon, when school let out, I watched Jay walk amongst his classmates. Previously, I’d only seen Jay for Jay. Compared to the other kids his tan pants were too short and his belt too high. His white polo was tucked in and his brown fedora, the one we gave him as a present for his 13th birthday, beamed like a beacon of ‘different’ amongst the multitude of baseball caps.

I cringed. How did I not notice that before?

As Jay made his way closer to the car, I noticed something else. Kids were talking to Jay at intervals. Each time they did, Jay frowned and furrowed his brows. Sometimes he responded and other times he ignored them.

When he got to the car, opened the door, sat down and buckled in his expression was as menacing as a thunder cloud.

“Jay, what’s wrong?”

He didn’t respond. I shifted the car into drive and pulled out of the school parking lot.

“Jay?” He crossed his arms and looked straight ahead. “I know you’re upset. There might be a way I can help you, but you need to tell me what’s going on.”

He remained quiet. Frankly, I didn’t expect a response. When Jay was upset it could take him days, if not months, to talk about it. I gave it a last try. “Jay?”

He exploded. He hit the passenger side of the door, stomped his feet and blurted out a string of words that sounded something like, “They make fun of me because of my hat.” Then he cried.

Jay didn’t cry because the kids didn’t accept him. I knew this because I understood Jay. He was furious, confused and angry they didn’t get it. Their verbal jabs put him on the defense, not for himself, but for the greatest guy ever known — Indiana Jones. The way Jay felt about being teased for his hat would be the equivalent to one of those kids being constantly teased about their parents.

What those kids didn’t know, and what I explained to the autism specialist earlier in the day, Jay was always dress crew were filming in our town, I had to drive him straight out to the location. Unfortunately we missed the action, but Jay stood in the cold looking through the cyclone fence with amazement and wonder. His hero had been here.

The past few weeks excitement has been building for the new movie’s release. Jay’s been giving daily countdowns. Jimmy’s already purchased the tickets for opening day — just in time to be a 15th birthday present for Jay. The other part of the gift, if I can find it, is a brown satchel to further complete his outfit. Heck, maybe one day he’ll have the jacket too.

And of course, I must take him to get his haircut.

Alright Indy, I’ll hand it to you. You win this one.

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Genevieve Hinson is a writer, wife and mom to two boys. More of her adventures can be found at GenevieveHinson.com

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(c) 2008, Genevieve Hinson.

Distributed by McClatchy-Tribune Information Services.

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