The clockmaker and the clock

Greetings y'all ;

Ahh the sweet sound of silence. I humbly apologize for my extended silence my friends. I miss writing in my electronic journal and miss the wonderful feedback I receive as I ramble on about the roller coaster of life. I will be honest , as I always have been and always will be. I stopped because I appreciate my extended viewership and didn't want to type words which can't be rescinded.

It's been an excruciating and exhausting few weeks. It hurts like nobodies business to see my oft times fragile son come home in pieces. We work diligently to put him back together each night but the repair work is painstaking and has become redundant.

*warning- analogy time*

Once upon a time an old man with very few possessions and even less money let his village use his one of a kind precious clock. The town claimed they loves it. Many people complimented the craftsmanship and beauty, the elegance and precision. Yet every day , after fixing several of the villagers personal clocks , he found his clock broken and in disrepair. Each night the clock maker was terribly tired.

You see the clock maker spent several hours a day in a noisy shop tweaking the clocks of others. Perhaps not completing his repairs in one day but tweaking the mechanisms and making minor adjustments. His lone joy was returning home to his magnificent clock he'd built himself. He was comforted in the beauty and gentle precision of his one priceless possession. Oh how he loved the the gentle ticking and the vibrant and joyous chimes.

But alas the old man would bring his clock, which he had entrusted with the villagers , home every night. Every night the old man would spend countless hour trying to repair his clock. He became sad and disillusioned. Why was tweaking and fixing while others were breaking? He offered advice on how to keep the clock running smoothly. The advice was summarily rejected and clock continued to malfunction. The old man would cry himself to sleep at night knowing each day of damage makes it harder to repair.

Oddly , even though the clock ran with smooth precision prior to the villagers handling of it and even in the evenings after the poor old mans hours of repairs , they blamed the old man and even the clock. The old man merely prayed the the villagers would understand each clock is unique. He prayed the villagers would find peace. That the villagers , who knew his reputation as a craftsman , would trust his input on his own handmade work.
The old man is a craftsman not a quitter. He knew his clock would never be the same but he continued to tweak and repair and rebuild. His clock was his clock. Twas beautiful to see and hear, was hardworking and persistent, was accurate and precise. It was his one of a kind unique time piece. He began to wonder if the villagers deserved such a fine instrument. If the villagers would learn to use a small screwdriver rather than a hammer to tweak his delicate instrument .

* end analogy *

Folks it's been an extremely rough few weeks. I've been exhausted from piecing my quirky and exuberant child back together. His self esteem has plummeted somewhere below the sub terrain. It's been exhausting piecing him back together and hearing everything is his fault. I guess if I were eight and heard all day I'm bad and am to blame while adults are perfect I'd be frustrated too.

What's not seen or appreciated is the amount of effort he puts in out of the class to improve his academics. Unfortunately now those hours are spent rebuilding his self esteem and psyche. We still haven't received a good answer as to why he's not in the GT classes he was slated for. We feel like we are in a manufactured snowball that is being pushed down a hill.

Alas we are the Robinson Boys ! We take ownership for our actions and expect others to do the same. We have high expectations for ourselves and others. We fight and find solutions; we are not quitters.

Thanks for reading again today folks. I suppose in still bitter and if I offended any one then come talk TO me as I've gone to the sources of my anguish. Hence part of me silence, I talk TO people before I vent.

Thanks