“You know Mommy, I haven’t unlocked my full potential yet” Sam said to me recently from a sea of LEGOs on the living room floor. Brick by brick, tiny ships with air, land, sea and war capabilities were revealing themselves as we talked. “Well, luckily you know it’s there. If you want to, you have the heart and mind to reach it,” I said.
The comment struck me as a strange thing for a seven year old to say and set me thinking about where he would get the idea that he had potential to unlock. Did I impose this awareness on him? Was it driven by a feeling of security and competency that his future holds a version of himself that is more than what he sees himself as now, or is it driven by a feeling of inadequacy that one day in the future he will be able to accomplish things currently beyond his grasp like catching a fly ball or reaching the pedals of the Batmobile?
The gravity of my responsibility to help him keep that treasured potential in tact for as long as possible is not lost on me. As destiny calls from every which way, my window for making choices is waning and theirs is growing. The butterfly effect of everything that goes in – family, school, friends, environment, culture – exposes them to new trajectories. I can’t begin to imagine what “full potential” looks like for Sam or for Talia. Even if I could, the only picture that matters is the one they will believe in for themselves.
When Sam was diagnosed with juvenile diabetes at 20 months old, we told ourselves that we were going to raise him to be who he would have been anyway whatever that means. In retrospect, I know that’s not possible. Some doors are closed. Sam can’t fly a plane or join the military (not that bad). Sam can’t scuba dive (kind of bad). Sam can’t live without insulin (bad, but getting better as technology improves). These are boundaries, but not limits. What can Sam do? Maybe he will grow up to be more than he would have been if the diagnosis had never happened. Maybe we all will.
What is it to have potential anyway? I’ve always taken it really hard when the kids bring a seed home and it doesn’t grow after they water it (sort of) diligently. Generally defined as a latent excellence or ability that may or may not be developed, I’ve been thinking about this lately with the London 2012 Olympics approaching. Watching the trials, I was riveted by the victory and the heartbreak. All the athletes at the trials were truly champions (and not in the everybody gets an AYSO trophy way). They had spent years training for this moment. Sportsmanship, composure, effort, and for some, the heart to have to wait four years to try again, are a part of reaching this level of achievement.
This year there is more promotion than ever of the Paralympic Games and even an athlete from South Africa who is a double amputee competing in the regular games. No doubt this is due in part to the number of military veterans participating in the games which has increased from 34 to 51 percent in the past two years. It’s true that these elite athletes find new hope through serving their country as Olympians, but glimpsing their true potential for even a moment, a 100 yard dash that might once have seemed like a million yards lifts us all. Those hundred yards, to use a quote from The Little Prince, that is a matter of consequence.
Jon will run the NYC Marathon for the Juvenile Diabetes Research Foundation (JDRF) in October. Until recently, he has never run more than a few miles, but I am certain that he will accomplish this goal. As part of his training, he ran a 10K on Governor’s Island last weekend. Sam and Talia also participated in two races as part of the event - a 100 yard dash and a 1K. I was so worried about Sam in a sea of kids and him possibly having low blood glucose that I insisted that he and Talia stay together. They ran the 100 together without incident. The next race was the one that terrified me because there were parts of the course I couldn’t see. They took their marks and were off. Within a minute Talia had lost her shoe, he stopped and helped her put it on and was trying hard not to run faster than her. They ran with her trailing him. It came off again. He stopped and looked for me in the crowd. Her sparkly purple Velcro sneakers and my worry were holding back the two years of strength and agility he had on her. I met his eyes and waved him on. Go, Sammy, go. Run.
I went to Talia and helped her with her shoe. I told her she was a champion. Don’t give up. Never give up. Finish the race. Her shoe came off four times. She came in dead last to the biggest cheers of all because she kept putting the shoe back on and resuming the race. Sam, despite two stops to help Talia still placed in the first half. Both kids received gold medals. I think the 100 yard dash and the big long race are both happening for all of us everyday. When a shoe comes off and no one will fault you if you stop running, but they’ll certainly applaud if you keep going.
As it turns out, Sam is not exactly cognizant of being on a journey of self-discovery towards his true potential the way I had initially thought when he made the comment to me. Apparently, the plot of the popular animated series LEGO Ninjago, Masters of Spinjitsu, involves Sensei Wu and five young ninjas with an interconnected destiny who seek to unlock their "Full Potential." It is a classic and complex fable in which the balance of the world depends on their victory and their victory depends on the depth of their character, the opening of their hearts and their ability to use their gifts. When they unlock their true potential they gain exceptional powers. In this state, their golden weapons illuminate brightly, and their bodies glow. To reach this state, they are faced with the question: What is the obstacle of my hero journey?
After we left Governors Island, we realized that we had left Talia’s beloved Hello Kitty behind on the grass. She was sad and I was sad for her. The next day, there was an unprecedented thunderstorm. Talia ran to me after the first thunder beside herself that Hello Kitty was alone in the rain on the island. Sam immediately came out with, “Talia, Hello Kitty is in a mail truck on her way home” and looks at me imploring me to agree. He completely took control of the situation (despite having used some critical ninja deception for tactical purposes). Helplessly, I confirmed his statement and resolved to try to find a doppelganger HK on the internet.
This small kindness is one among many that I have seen Sam give to his sister. The shoe incident described above is another. He is a good sport (even about his health challenges) and works to make sure that everyone around him rolls with the punches in the face of all the noise and chaos that surrounds us. At a recent street fair, while Sam was perusing a table of vintage superheroes, Talia threw up pink lemonade all over several of the exact same repulsive fork-tongued, serpentine villains. In an awkward panic as Wayne and Garth stared at me to see what I was going to do about the fact that my kid had just puked on their merchandise, I bought the whole lot. Talia looked at the serpent beasts that she now owned with disgust (even after I had cleaned it up) when Sam says, “Talia this army is the rarest of rare.” If you know Talia, she is very attracted to the rarest of rare. She stopped crying and they started playing a game where any less than four of the cloned reptile wouldn’t have been as much fun. It’s a small thing but these little shifts that he is capable of making in our family’s little universe - these new trajectories - make me think that Sam’s exceptional power or “golden weapon” is mastery of himself and his environment. The obstacle to his hero journey will be to carry this treasure – in tact – as he and his world become more complex.
