Growing Pains

It’s almost midnight, and I’m sitting outside on my back porch staring at the most amazing crescent moon. A waxing crescent is said to symbolize growth and action and new things to come. It’s the perfect moon for the perfect night. A lively, little breeze is lifting the leaves, and for us here in the South, we’re beginning to feel the promise of a new season.

For the past week, The Greatest Kid On The Planet has been on Fall break. It’s a bit of a misnomer as temperatures here were soaring in the nineties. But for us, it was the best Fall break ever. And even though we say that every year, this one came right when we needed it.

Being in middle school means playing middle school football, and for The Greatest Kid, the season couldn’t have been better. Playing school ball brought a host of challenging firsts: new coaches, new teammates, and new opportunities and opponents. It was an exciting season of personal growth and achievement.

But it was also the first time The Greatest Kid ever had to sit on the sidelines. A week on crutches turned into two and a visit to an orthopedic surgeon which vetted another week in a boot. It was a visit that brought relief to my worries and dismay to The Greatest Kid who learned he would miss yet another game.

Words like metatarsals and growth plates mean little to a twelve-year-old who is in despair. All efforts to console and explain went unregistered in a cloud of disappointment, and, finally, I found myself saying something I never thought I would hear myself say.

It’s just growing pains.

It was no surprise those words met more silence. I’d heard those same words years ago when I was young, and I never knew what they meant. I remember wondering if growing pains were real, or just something mom said when she didn’t know what was wrong.

Fast forward to today, and, yes, growing pains are real. As I’ve watched The Greatest Kid stretch and fill out over the last twelve months at a ridiculous rate, all I can think is that it has to hurt. How many inches can a human being grow in one year? And should a foot stretch three sizes in a matter of months? These are the questions I ponder as I watch him in wonder. My mom brain has accepted The Greatest Kid is no longer a small child, even while I browse through the racks and stubbornly settle on youth-extra-large. I purposely dismiss anything in adult-small because The Greatest Kid is still a youth, and while I can admit he is growing, I refuse to accept he should be wearing an adult-sized anything at age twelve.

These days I’m starting to understand why my mom kept so many things to herself. I find myself measuring The Greatest Kid’s height next to mine whenever I stand with him in front of a mirror, and, each time, my heart collapses just a little. What kid needs to know that their mom looks at them with wonder and joy and pride but also the tiniest touch of dismay that, while the best is always yet to come, there are some things that are gone forever?

These thoughts settle in the back of my mind as I, again, try to explain to a distraught twelve-year-old why he has to sit out during the most important time of the year. No, it’s not fair, we both agree. And it’s not right, and, yes, it really sucks. And we both really hate it (a word we never allow ourselves to use, but this time it’s true). It’s simply the way the world works.

It all sounds too convenient and easy and not at all helpful. So, finally, I say all I can think of to say.

You’re going to have to sit out of the game for a while. And it’s going to be hard. And it’s going to be painful. But you’ll get through it. Take the time you need to heal and feel like yourself again. When you’re ready to come back, you’ll be stronger than before. And you’ll be ready to take on the world again.

It’s just growing pains, Champ. You’ll be okay.

And then The Greatest Kid asks me the question I should have seen coming.

When do they stop?

What I want to say to my twelve-year-old who still expects me to have all the answers is “when you get older and stop growing”. But even before the words come out, I know they are so far from true. If I were being honest, I would tell him they don’t stop. But that is yet another thing I keep to myself.

How does one explain to a twelve-year-old that we never stop growing? How do I explain that all he is going through now, all that seems so monumental and consequential, is nothing compared to the growth he’ll go through later and, presumably, for the rest of his life? That this moment in time that he describes as the worst thing that could happen isn’t the worst of the worst or even close to it? And that the real growing pains, the ones that will shape him into who he will be, won’t start until later? And they will continue for years to come, long past the time when his bones have stopped growing?

Those are the real growing pains, the ones my mom never told me about when I was young. But all of those things I keep to myself. I know there will be plenty of time for The Greatest Kid to learn all he needs to. Right now, I wish we could stop time, and, just for an instant, stay in this moment with nothing more to worry about than football, and growth plates, and science research papers.

But wish all I will, I can’t stop the second hand from turning. I’m watching time go by, and The Greatest Kid is growing faster than I can mark and measure. And I know that soon, ready or not, he will begin to understand all I am reluctant to say.

Soon he’ll learn that life will throw hurdles and obstacles into his path, and many he will overcome and conquer. But he will also suffer setbacks and disappointments. And he will come out tougher and wiser, and he’ll grow through each one. But, sometimes, they hurt.

And he’ll find that life will bring him every chance to chase his dreams, and if he can see it, he can be it. He just needs to believe it. But some days will be better than others. Along the way, he will stumble and falter, and, yes, even fall flat on his face. But those missteps and missed tackles are all part of the game, and they’ll strengthen his resolve to move forward. Failure will help make him strong. But it hurts.

And he’ll see that around every corner and down every road there will be lessons to learn and mistakes that he’ll make. And the years will bring him challenges and trials and highs and lows. But, often, the lowest times in his life will bring him to his greatest joys. And even though they take time and patience and resilience to get through, those tough moments will bring him clarity and courage.

But they hurt.

And then, one day, his heart will break. But it will mend. And then break again. And again. And each time it mends, he will grow. And it will hurt.

These are the things I want to say to my twelve-year-old. The growing pains that will shape him into the person he will be will be far worse than the ones he endures as a kid. And they will continue long past the days when he should have known better, and after he’s sure he’s learned his lesson and grown all he needs to. Because he will never stop growing, if he is lucky.

And he will remember each and every one.

Those are the growing pains my mom never told me about when I was young. And for now, I, too, keep them to myself.

For now, as I watch The Greatest Kid stretching and growing and changing into something far greater, I will still try to soften the blow of disappointment whenever I can. But I know there is only so much I can do to prepare him for all that’s to come. As I watch him navigate his way through the changes and challenges he faces, I will encourage strength and the ability to grow his way through. But I know it won’t be for much longer.

Soon, it will be me standing on the sidelines hoping he listened and learned. And while I can still guide him, I cannot protect him from suffering disappointment.

And I cannot soften the blow of failure.

And I cannot shield him from making mistakes and learning the hard way, or making the choices he’ll wish that he hadn’t, any more than I can keep the tides from turning.

But, oh, how I wish I could keep his heart from breaking.

For those are the growing pains he won’t easily get over. The ones that will harden his ideals and his beliefs, and, sometimes, his heart. And they will stay with him in the form of life-long lessons long after the pain has subsided.

But there is no way to stop it from happening. One day he will realize the world isn’t perfect, and, sometimes, promises are broken, and love doesn’t always stay.

And just as I did when he was younger, I will try to soften the blow. And just like my mom did with me, I will tell him all of the things I wanted to say. That life is an adventure we can’t easily predict. And sometimes we win, and sometimes we love and we lose. But it’s all that we experience along the way that makes it truly worth living. And the pain is all just a part of it.

And then, through the cloud of disillusionment and heartbreak, when he is finally ready to hear everything I kept to myself, this is what I will say.

You may need to sit out of the game for a while. And it will be hard. And it will be painful. But you’ll get through it. Take the time you need to heal and feel like yourself again. When you’re ready to come back, you’ll be stronger than before. And you’ll be ready to take on the world again.

It’s just growing pains, Champ. You’ll be okay.

M.C. Greene

P.S. This Is What I Know