Fear of Flying

[lydamorehouse]

Lately Mason’s been afraid.  He’s afraid of monsters in the dark.  He’s afraid of falling.  Most especially, he’s afraid of being alone… even in his own house for as little as a few seconds.  This has been tough, if only because it means that when we’re playing in the backyard and I want to move the sprinkler in the front he insists he has to come with me. Or he’ll burst into tears if I’m out of his sight line. 

 

Today is the first day of “Castles and Dragons” a summer fun class he took last year before he discovered fear.  Last year, it was held at Four Seasons Elementary and he had a blast.  I loved it, too, because I would escape to a nearby coffeehouse for a half hour and check my email.  This year, I talked Mason into walking into the classroom on his own (unlike one poor parent who literally couldn’t pry his kids off his legs and ended up leaving with them still attached).  However, in order to get Mason to go in, I promised to sit outside in the hallway for the duration of the class.  I’m only doing this for the first class, however.  Too many of us parents seem to be slavishly concerned that our children not cry or freak out.  Another parent, with an infant in arms, asked me to reassure her son Eric if he came out of the classroom that she was just off caring for his sibling for a few minutes.  She also got her boy to go in with the promise that she’s be nearby.

 

I remember being little.  I remember being scared a lot.  So, even though my impulse is to say, “There’s nothing to be scared of!”  I’m trying to deal with this, instead, by telling Mason that it’s okay to be scared and that everyone is nervous on the first day of school or class.  But given some time, he can get over his fear and start to have fun.  He just has to give things a try, and, more importantly, if things don’t work out at first to be willing to keep at it. 

 

This is an issue that I’m very conscious of.  Before Mason, there were a couple of kids I watched grow up.  Both of them boys and both started out smart and capable… and something happened.  They’re still smart and capable and wonderful men, but neither could be described as go-getters or self-starters.  My question has always been:  why do some people rise to challenges and others struggle, or worse, give up and walk away? 

 

I think that it’s a complicated issue, of course, but I think one component has to be this issue of trying and failing and trying again.  Despite the fact that I hung around the kids who were in the top one percent of the class, I was always an average student.  My parents just recently gave me my old high school report cards.  Looking at them, I was appalled.  Lots of Cs and, lo, even some Ds.  However, I also saw lots of elective courses that were advanced science and math.  I struggled through pre-Calculus, Computer Science, French, and Physics.  Interestingly, too, by the end of the semester, I’d have pulled those Ds into Bs and the Cs into As.  The next semester, I’d sign myself up for more challenging classes, nearly flunk, and then somehow pass.  I also did theatre all though high school, keeping late hours and memorizing lines.  I remember the first play I got into was a Community Theatre production of “Prime of Miss Jean Brodie” (I played Monica,) and I was a freshman in high school.  It was awesome the first time the audience clapped, but I cried and cried and cried while trying to memorize my lines.  I thought I’d never get it.  My mom helped me come up with a solution, which was that I wrote my lines over and over again until they became like rote.  It was a boatload of work, but I don’t remember entertaining the idea of quitting or backing out.  Quitting was never, in my memory at least, even presented as an option.

 

Mason was grumpy throughout class, but he stuck it out.  We went to McDonald’s as a treat (yeah, yeah, I know), and now we’re at home listening to Rosemary Clooney sing “Mambo Italiano.”  As he said, “It’s been a tough day so far.”  Yes, but he got through it.  Tomorrow, we’ll try again.

Comments

[jiawen]

Of course everyone is different, so I don't know what Mason's psychology is like, but I think that a major part of it is knowing that your parents are there to back you up. Not that they'll do it for you, because that causes a whole other set of neuroses, but that if you fail, they'll be there to give you a hug or whatever. That there'll be someone whose shoulder you can cry on. I think the fact that I didn't have that made me the needy person I am today.

[epi-lj.livejournal.com]

In your final paragraphs there, it really sounds like your approach to this is working and that he'll grow from this.

It's an issue that's become close to my heart as an adult. Some years ago, let's say five years ago, I started to have serious social anxiety and panic attacks. I'd never had that before. I was never wildly extroverted, mind you, but this was a whole new kind of fear that I hadn't experienced. Since it happened to me as an adult, I had this strong stark memories of there being a dividing line before which I wasn't afraid and after which I was. If you look at a longer arc, there's more to it than that simple issue, as well. I remember highschool being this time where I could do anything and where I would approach people for projects or take on "crazy" undertakings without a second thought. I remember one of my friends calling me up and asking me if I'd like to play a live concert the next day. I had a whole one song written and I couldn't actually play keyboards to save my life, but I said, "Yeah, sure!" A friend of mine and I spent a day writing a second song, and the rest of the entire show we were told to just wing it. I had a blast. Now... I can't imagine doing that. I have this much larger body of work -- easily a few concerts worth of material to cull from -- and yet the idea of performing in front of an audience terrifies me.

I'm gradually working through some of these issues, and a big part of it is a matter of trying and being okay with maybe failing rather than having not tried. But some of it still seems beyond me. What happened? I'm not sure. But I do think that at some point I got this idea stuck in my head that it's not okay to fail, to do poorly, to "make a fool of myself", and that's something I have to disabuse myself of.

[(Anonymous)]

I think this is a normal part of being a kid. Jack was always better about being left alone than Maggie was; she never, ever wanted to be left alone.

Neither of them liked being dropped off at preschool and having mom and dad leave. But we were pretty clear about the rules: mom and dad don't sneak out when the kid isn't looking, we alway said goodbye. This meant tears, and at times required the intervention of the preschool teacher to take the clinging child from us--Maggie's preschool teacher referred to this as a "Maggie-ectomy." Jack was a little better, but only because he is a mellower person in general.

The tears always stopped after a few minutes and life proceeded fine after we had gone. As Maggie discovered that other people could be as fun (or more fun) than mom or dad, this became less of a problem. When I dropped her off for her first day of kindergarden, she gave me a quick kiss and a "Bye Dad!" and ran off to the playground. Of course, I was a little teary then.

Now she's a teenager and would much rather spend time with friends than mom or dad (sniff, sniff, Cue "Sunrise, Sunset" from Fiddler on the Roof).