Self-Conscious

This weekend was a rocket launch weekend. The Boy spent thirteen hours at Sixty Acres Park with his rocket club.  April 3 was the last day to submit scores to the Team America Rocketry Competition (TARC.) This winter and spring have been the rainiest ever in Seattle, so there had been only a few good weekends to launch. The rocket specs given by TARC this year were more complex than years past. Each rocket needs to have two stages, each with a different diameter and its own parachute. What this means to a non-rocketophile is that there are now more ways for things not to work. The TARC judge said he has seen more rocket catastrophes this year than ever before. (This is a guy who as a rocket taking a core sample of the earth as his home screen on his phone.) As Peter's rocket coach says, the kids always find the disasters more interesting than the successes. Two years ago, the Boy was at a Rocket Club recruiting event for incoming sixth graders, and he insisted the team show off a rocket that was blown to bits. It brought the most attention and probably earned them a few new members.

The Boy is superstitious, and he refused to watch the ten launches for his team rocket this weekend. He is the captain of his team, too. He would help set-up the launch, and just as they were about to start the countdown, he would run behind a shed while another member of the team pushed the launch button. He would peek out for the landings so he would know where to find the rocket parts.

A few weeks ago, their rocket blew up on the launchpad twice due to a defective motor case. The team fixed the rocket each time and were able to launch again. The Boy watched and recorded each those on his phone. He would watch them in slow motion with the other kids on the team to figure out what happened.

Then he stopped watching, and his rocket never blew up again. I tried to tell him his eyes do not affect the laws of physics, but he didn't believe me. He was convinced if he watched, there would be a disaster.

Instead, he missed some of the most beautiful rocket launches I have seen. They were straight up, and the parachutes popped as the rocket was racing back to earth. One launch was so straight and fast, the rocket landed feet from the launchpad, something unheard of for a team of middle school rocketeers.

It was amazing. And he missed it.

Middle school is a time of painful self-awareness. I remember when I was in sixth grade I couldn't imagine how anyone could be a movie star because everyone would be watching them, which, as far as I was concerned at the time, would be the worst thing in the world.

If I were to wish anything for my son, it would be to let him see the awesomeness in himself, and not just the yucky parts. Sometimes it sucks to look in the mirror. We might only focus on the flaws: the muffin top, the wattle under the chin, the receding hairline. We can't see our still sparkling eyes and our smiles. The Boy is so worried about his rocket that he couldn't watch. Over the season, he probably watched half of the twenty launches, of which maybe three or four were miserable. By being afraid, self-conscious, he missed the beautiful half.