It's That Time of Year Again

Spring.  It's here.  I feel it.  Sunglasses and flip flops.  Short sleeves and tank tops reveal skin that has been hidden from the sun for months.

I stand with my face lifted to the sun.  I stand atop a playground in an overly busy Denver park filled with a "Can you believe how nice it is today?" buzzing energy.  The grass areas are filled with volleyball nets and picnics - the playground is filled with giggles, squeals, chasing and climbing. It's a great day.

My five year old son is climbing, crawling and sliding.  He is on the level below me, making a new friend.  I witness the scene from above, trying hard not to seem like I'm hovering too much - but I am hovering, just the same.  I listen in as the new friends exchange names and ages and wonder, "When do we actually stop exclaiming with glee 'I'm five too!'?"  (It might seem odd to excitedly cry out to a colleague "I'm 38 too!  How cool is that?!")

The conversation continues and there it is..."What's wrong with your arm?"  Logan's new friend backs away and asks him the question that I've been anticipating all morning.  My mom brain swirls around thoughts ranging from "Oh, sweetie, you are only 5 and you have asked a natural question when confronted with something out of the ordinary" to "Nothing is wrong with his arm, you big jerk."  Thankfully my son has remembered the response we have practiced and replies with a shrug, "Nothing, it's only my birthmark."

Great.  Nice job, Logan.  Done. Wrong.    

The boys begin climbing the chain ladder that is leading them both to me.  Logan's friend reaches the top first and offers his hand down to help Logan, "Here, let me help you...but not with that arm...that one," pointing instead to Logan's birthmark-free left arm.  My son climbs to the top unassisted and proudly stands at the top.    My heart is breaking but I keep my poker face, "Awesome job Logan, that ladder is tough!" 

Just when I think the moment has passed, my son's new friend says, "Are you a werewolf?"  I feel like I have been kicked in the stomach.  Without the slightest bit of reaction, Logan replies, "No" and the two boys run off together leaving me to my thoughts.

I remain on the upper level of the playground, my mind repeating the common question "What's wrong with your arm?"  Nothing is wrong with Logan's arm, but something is certainly different about it.  He was born with a large birthmark on his right elbow, extending onto most of his upper and lower arm segments.  The birthmark would not be so unusual if it was simply a discoloration of his skin but what makes it so unique is that it grows a considerable amount of hair, as well. During the winter months, it is not an issue - no one sees it.  Spring brings out the short sleeve shirts and the questions begin.

Logan learned from the time he could talk to reply with the standard phrase "It's my birthmark."  Some kids respond with "Cool," and move on...others ask more questions.  I'm usually nearby to swoop in and stop the questions.  Some days Logan is more sensitive than others, tucking inside his shirt to hide his arm and running away.  Other days, like today, Logan shrugs off the questions and gets down to the business of playing.  That's my boy.

And like Logan, some days I can shrug off the questions because I understand the curiosity of children when they encounter something different.  When adults ask, or point, or say things about his birthmark, I'm more sensitive - you could say I have less tolerance. 

Today, I'm a bit sad.  I'm watching my son run and chase and climb and slide...and laugh.  I'm remembering the day he was born.  I'm remembering comments from various family members - polite suggestions to "remove it" or to "hide it."  I'm thinking that most moments, I don't even see it - I see my sweet, perfect, healthy little boy, not his birthmark. 

The werewolf comment hurt me more than it hurt Logan.  He shrugged it off and I'm still thinking about it.  Even though I do not see his birthmark, I need to remember that the rest of the world does see it.  So, we will embark on our annual Spring/Summer routine and we will shave the hair off of his birthmark.  That is one thing I can do to make it a little less noticeable.  I know that I cannot protect my son all of the time....I can only do my very best to make his hardships as minimal as possible.

It is with these thoughts that I retrieve my son and we walk hand-in-hand across the park to meet our family - basking in the Spring sunshine together.