Meekness can be one’s tragic flaw.  Growing up, it was mine.  People pinpointed my flaw and exploited it, until a flitting advocate found their way into my life for a lasting, yet short spurt.

Her name was Renee.

We shared a neighborhood and a love for roller skating.  She was strong willed and would run away just to watch people’s attempts to find her. A good influence? Probably not, except she had all the confidence I lacked.

While slowly, rhythmically skating backwards to Gloria Estefan’s Turning the Beat Around, I recounted how a neighbor girl stole my favorite beach towel and refused return.  I wasn’t worried “my God, it is only a towel!?” Renee viciously grabbed me by the shoulders and yelled over the chorus “if you let everyone take from you, everyone will, until you got nothin.” It stunned me, that my friend knew I was a chump. And therefore, so did everyone else.

The next day, Renee crossed my street, marched up to that girl’s door, knocked, shoved her out of the way, found my towel, and brought it out.  The girl’s mom was raging, from a distance.  As Renee handed me my towel, she said “and that is how you do it.”

She moved away three weeks later. But I started to alter my flaw.  In middle school, I learned to speak a little louder. In high school, I learned to finger wave, roll my head, and give a ‘tude to match.  In college, I learned the art of debate.  And in teaching, I learned to advocate.

Sitting across the same generic faux wood conference table with a plastic black trim that resides in every school, I learned to channel the meekness into helping a parent and/or student come to terms with whatever actions were necessary.  Ease, convince, and advocate.

But this week, I was on a foreign side of both the table and advocacy.  My first time not advocating for my purpose, but for my sons. Going into the meeting, I never realized how intimidating that table was; teachers, psychologist, counselor, principal, coordinator then me and my husband.  They all have their agenda, their needs of which I support, as long as my son is supported as well.

Immediately, the majority of their concerns seemed minimal compared to mine.  Phrases of “does not effect his work, now,” “very spontaneous,” “maybe take the summer to mature” filled the air but my son’s potential was opaque, lost.  It took three interruptions by my husband and I to clearly vocalize our concerns.  Not because those present weren’t listening or desiring to help, but our explanation was unclear. As a former teacher, I thought I had this, but that damn side of the table is a challenge.  It is greased with emotions and every word that slips out just plots on the table and smears.

The patience of the administrators allowed us to finally paint our concerns and after 45 minutes, we had set goals ensuring Wheels’ potential continues to rise, and avenues for clearer communication with his teachers.

Advocating for oneself is easy.  Your kids, it’s a learning curve.

The day after our meeting, still questioning myself, Wheels had a skate party.  I zoomed through two songs on my own, reconnecting with childish freedom and the first person who stood up for me.

Nostalgic, I slid into backwards skating and watched the innocent scene to Fifth Harmony’s Work. Scanning back to the wall, a young boy lost control and slammed into an older man, both plowing hard, head first into the ground.

I immediately rushed forward, and noticed the man roll over to face the boy.  The boy hugged his knee, looked at the man, and his face contorted in terror.  Paying more attention, the man was whispering “[inaudible inaudible] fucking [inaudible]!”

Reaching the pair, I extended each a hand and said, “Honey, you ok? Sir, are you hurt?”

At this the man brazenly exclaimed, “This stupid little shit knocked me down, didn’t you? Stupid shit!”

Humiliated the boy skated away, and I, channeled Renee.

35 year old woman. Full finger wave to an underhand point scolding from hip and my best high school head rolls with a side of “Who do you think you are? I am not going to let you get away with berating a child!  This is a kids party, are, are you a kid? NO, I didn’t think so! Grow up and act your age!”

Shoot… I am way more effective without a table.

 

 

Note – I went straight to the manager and the man was removed.  The child compensated and physically fine.