“Maybe you’re my seed after all.”

The X-rays were given the once over and the docs noticed a distinct absence of toys. So, either he didn’t actually swallow the Magnetix marble or he already passed it. Come to think of it, I thought I heard a *clank* when he was taking a dump the other day. At any rate, there are no foreign objects in his abdominal workings and we’ve eliminated that as a possible cause for his stomach ache and general feeling of yukkiness. While waiting for the X-rays at the hospital Donna got to talking to one of the ER nurses. The nurse said that her granddaughter had been displaying the same symptoms (except for the consumption of toys part), stomach ache, lack of appetite, emotional outbursts, etc. The little girl’s mother finally determined that it was a severe case of nerves due to the upcoming start of pre-school. Apparently, this is not uncommon. So with some careful questioning, we began to poke and prod at Joey’s emotional guts. It didn’t take long for him to spill the fact that he is, indeed, extremely anxious about beginning preschool. I told him of all the great fun he’s about to have. I tried to explain to him that I would never put him in a place where he would be hurt or unhappy. That I would go with him the first few days of school until he got used to it. Still, he had a look of fear and sadness in his eyes and insisted that he wants to come to work with me.

Like I said, my son’s feelings are not uncommon among children his age. And yet I can’t help but feel responsible. All my life I’ve been a worrier. In my Christian walk I’ve really struggled to remember that I have a loving Father that walks beside me, wherever life takes me. I don’t know where this seemingly constant sense of worry originated, but I know I’ve had it since I was a kid. I remember being seven years old and going to school a few blocks from our house. Each night, before going to sleep, I’d ask my mom if she would be there when I got home from school the next day. After school the following day, I’d run home to make sure she was there. On occasion the house was empty because an errand or something had delayed her. That was pretty much enough to put me in meltdown mode. Several months ago I was cleaning out some old boxes of junk and I came across a bunch of my schoolwork from that time. I opened a neatly folded piece of paper with a list of days. Next to each day I had printed, “Mom will be home.” I had forgotten about that. I had made a list that I carried with me during school. At times during the day, I'd look at that paper to reassure myself that she'd be there when I got home. I felt a sense of despair because I realized that in some ways, I’m still that frightened little kid.

A couple months ago I posted some thoughts on Ezekiel 34:6-7. I concluded that my sons are subjected to punishment for my sins because they mirror my bad behavior in their own lives. I can understand that and I can appreciate how that would happen. But this struggle with fear and worry seems to be a different animal. Firstly, I’ve got twin boys. They both pretty much witness the same behavior and Jack does not have these issues. And secondly, Joey has been a tender-hearted, sensitive “thinker” since he hit the delivery room table. Honestly, I’ve really enjoyed cuddling and talking with him in what seems like a very intimate friendship. But I’ve also wondered, since the time he was maybe 6 or so months old, would he have the same failings as me? At the risk of being a fatalist, it appears that’s the way he’s headed.

A friend once told me, “I know that you really struggle with worry and sensitivity. And I know that if you could snap your fingers a lot of things would be different. But you ought to remember that while your struggles and defeats are probably more crushing and bitter, your accomplishments are far more gratifying and your victories far sweeter.” Is it an equitable trade-off? I don’t know, but I still can’t help but feel a tinge of guilt over what I've passed to my son.