4/17/08 Strikingly Unconventional

It's here! It's here! Today's the day! It's the guest post from Antique Mommy! And now, for the moment you've all been waiting for...

Strikingly Unconventional
By Antique Mommy

Last Saturday, my four-year-old son Sean, had a T-ball game. And I don’t mean to brag, but he is good. He hits the ball well, he runs with determination and he can throw the ball with a fair degree of accuracy. He is athletic and good at the components of baseball. What he is not good at is the game part of baseball – the part that requires you to leave your quirky at home and be a part of the team.

Instead of chatting up his team mates while standing in line awaiting his turn at bat, he’ll wander off and pick dandelions. Or spin in circles until he falls down. Last Saturday, he started hopping on one-foot, backwards down the 3rd base line. With his hat pulled down over his eyes.

“Wow. Look at Sean go,” one of the other mother’s said to me. “He can really hop.”

“Yeah, he’s talented,” I sighed. “He’s from a long line of good hoppers. I can hop on one foot as can my mother and her mother before her.”

Watching Hop Along Cassidy was like watching myself as a four-year-old. I was always a little off beat, always had to do things my own way, just a little bit differently than everyone else. I’ve never been good at team sports or things that require lockstep precision. I was, and still am, exactly like that backwards hopping little boy – quirky. Being quirky has made life both more difficult and more interesting.

Dictionary.com describes quirky as strikingly unconventional -- idiosyncratic, capricious, off beat, whimsical and even unique - Albert Einstein, Mozart, DaVinci! But it also goes on to define quirky as peculiar, wacky, screwy and just plain weird – Michael Jackson. When does quirky become weird? And how do I teach Sean to harness the power of quirky and use it for good and not evil so that his life might be more interesting and less difficult?

“Yeah, he’s a little quirky,” I stated for the record to no one in particular.

“Oh no he’s not!” the other mother rushed in to console me. “He’s fine, he’s a four-year-old!”

I didn’t need consoling. In my mind, quirky is a compliment.