Battle of the bands

I can't decide which song is better for my mood:

Barry Manilow's "Looks Like We Made it" or Gloria Gaynor's "I Will Survive."

But, I made it through the sixth-grade orientation today for Pickle. Ok, I say that only half-jokingly. I was a wreck the whole four hours he was there. I worried and worried. I tried to stay busy, but having a kid with "issues" makes you weak in the knees when you can't be there to protect him.

The idea for the orientation is a peer-led meeting with eighth-graders taking on small groups (sort of like Baylor's Welcome Week waaaaay back when I was a college freshman. We had min-con groups with upper classmen showing us the ropes.) So, he was going on a tour of the school and learning all about things like lunch and ID badges, etc. They played games and got to know other sixth-graders with fun stuff going on.

Fun. Except for me, it was four hours of pure hell.

It started off with a loud gym pumping Space Jam and other bubblegum pop music REALLY loudly and all the kids shoved in there on the bleachers. My son hates large crowds and loud noises, so I'm already worried. He has a hard time relating to kids his own age. So, I'm fretting even more that he will be left to their devices. What if he freaks out? I'm ready to gnaw off my arm before noon rolls around. So, I go to pick him up and the crowd of sixth-graders disperses into the school hallways and I can't find my boy. I'm trying not to panic, but I worry. What if he left early and someone snatched him? What if some mean kid had him cornered? What if he was scared and looking for me? What if? What if? What if?

I run into several boys I know. None of them had seen him. I run into moms and dads I know. Nope, nada. So, I continue to freak and then I see him rounding a hallway and I yell to him. He bebops happily around the corner and shoves a handful of papers my way and tells me he's hungry.

*whew*

Good thing I was so worried and all. Then, it hit me: he is growing up and maturing. Yeah, a kid told him he's weird. But, he blew him off. He was fine. He didn't freak out. He didn't *gasp* need me. He did OK.

This poor kid is my first. My oldest, yet my baby. He's fragile, yet getting stronger. He is learning coping methods and moving forward. Maybe middle school won't be so bad after all - for both of us.

The Barry Manilow song wins out.