While I guess navigating complex medical and developmental issues isn’t a mishap, it has unveiled my true genius. I’ve gotta tell you, I’m a freaking rockstar when the chips are down.
I’m prone to laziness and half-assery, except when a fire is lit under me, and it takes either pressure or passion to light that fire. What could induce more pressure than a child you love in need?
I suppose you could even say I’m a superhero. You know, Clark Kent, just hanging around in my dopey glasses. Unnoticeable and more than a bit awkward and backwards.
But Lord help me, when that fire ignites nothing short of Kryptonite will slow me down.
I sometimes wonder what would have happened if I’d had 2.3 typical children. Would I ever have found my cape?
As Neville in the Harry Potter series, I was always plagued with self doubt. What am I made of? Will I be able to stand when life falls apart? I long suspected that when trials arose it would go down like that gym class baseball game where I finally managed to connect with the ball and make a base hit (after striking out dozens of times) just to have that cute, popular guy behind me hit a home run and lap me before I rounded third base. (I still relive that day in my nightmares).
I hate that we’ve had to endure godawful trials, but standing here, looking at the stalwart confidence that resulted when life’s mishaps demanded my genius, I can pause and acknowledge that it was the valleys, not the peaks that sparked my evolution.