The Diva Trantrum

Yoni is coaching Elan’s baseball team this year, and for any number of reasons, he’s gotten reeeeally into it.  Those reasons include:

1. Yoni likes baseball and was a star pitcher in his day.
2. Yoni works too hard and it’s a fun and easily justifiable distraction.
3. Yoni gets reeeeally into things.

Both Elan and Ariel happen to be pretty naturally athletic, and Elan has proven to be great all-round player.  So Yoni’s been practicing with him almost every day, talking about the upending season incessantly, basically ignoring my warnings that Elan might perceive his daddy’s enthusiasm as pressure to perform.

Before the first game, Elan’s getting changed into his White Sox uniform, and Yoni’s trying to pump him up.
“Okay, so here’s the batting order I came up with, tell me what you think -”

Without warning Elan collapses in a naked heap to his bedroom floor and starts to wail.

I’m not goooooing!
Excuse me?
I don’t want to plaaaaay!  I hate baseball!  I never wanted to sign up!  You signed me up without even assssking meeeee!  I’m not gooooing.  I quit!

Yoni and I look at each other.
“What’s wrong?  Are you nervous?”
“No!  I just don’t.  Want.  To.  Play.”
“You never said anything about this before…”
“I.  Don’t.  Care.  I’m not going.”
“Well if you’re serious, we certainly aren’t going to make you play.  It’s supposed to be fun for you.”
(Yoni:) “Just let me know so I can try to quickly get a replacement player.”
“Get one.”
(Yoni, very gently:)  “Please honey, can we talk about it?  Have I been making you nervous?  You know it doesn’t matter how you do.  And you’re going to be great!  I just wanted it to be something fun we can do together.  Tell me what’s going on.”
“NO.  LEAVE ME ALONE.  I DON’T WANT TO TALK ABOUT IT.  I’M NOT GOING AND THAT’S MY FINAL DECISION.”

I take Yoni aside and suggest we give the kid some space to calm down and clear his head.  Elan does well with space when his emotions need a little sorting out.  Reluctantly, he follows me out of the room.
Twenty minutes later, Elan emerges from his room, fully clothed in his baseball duds.  He goes silently to the bathroom and washes his hands and face.  Then he turns to me.

“Fine.  I’ll play.  But I don’t want to bat one of the first.  I want to go last.  I don’t care if you’re supposed to put the better batters first.”
“You got it.”  I know when not to push.

The game is a blast, and after a lecture from Yoni on middos, his team goes on to win 7-1.  I’d been watching Ariel’s game across the park, so after confirming that Elan is on cloud nine – earlier drama all but forgotten – I let him spend the rest of the afternoon at Kevin’s house.

When I pick him up later, he is ready to talk.  “It was so much fun,” he enthuses.  “I got like 3 people out at first base, and scored 3 runs!”
“That’s awesome!  Were you nervous the first time you got up to bat?”
“Oh yeah.  I was so nervous that my hands wouldn’t stop shaking.  We get five pitches and I totally missed the first four because I couldn’t keep my hands still.  And then right before the fifth pitch, I said to myself I’m not going to let my team down. And I made myself get calm, and I smashed it.  It was a home run but then they made me go back to second because they weren’t allowing more than a certain amount of runs per inning or something.  And after that, the rest of the game, I was totally fine.”

It’s so delicious to hear him describe his feelings, to hear how much he understands his own feelings.  I’m told teenage boys often stop communicating so intimately with their parents, and, struck by he realization that he’s closer to an adolescent than a newborn, I don’t take the emotional intimacy for granted.

Still, however, I guess I don’t always know when not to push it.
“So,” I begin casually.  “What was that little scene in your bedroom this morning all about?”

Elan catches my eye in the rear view mirror.
“MOM. I said I don’t want to talk about that.  I’m not talking about it.  Got it?”

Indeed I do.

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