Wrestling with my son's courage

Saturday my son, Caleb, wrestled in his first tournament. He is 8 1/2, with dirty blonde bangs, large blue eyes with dark lashes, full lips, angelic face and he possesses a gentle nature. He is extraordinarily bright. By six he could un-mortgage three properties in Monopoly by taking the the cost of the three properties, dividing by two and then adding ten percent, all in his head. Unfortunately, he is spacey, often caught with a nose in a book, and he speaks so very slowly you might think he had some form of synaptic damage. It isn't until you realize he's comparing three different Ancient Asian religions in this halting verbal delivery that you understand he simply has marbles in his mouth, not in his head. None of the above helps him while wrestling. He had three matches. He was ahead in all three, 2-1, 7-1, and 4-1, and it wasn't until the two wrestlers simply stood across from oneanother and raw aggression came into play that Caleb simply couldn't cope. The other kid, in all three matches, just tackled him and pinned him, while Caleb was still trying to figure out what learned move he was supposed to execute.

After each pin he was heart broken. Following the first, he held his mouth in a tight smile, but his eyes blinked back tears. After the second, he cried openly, and then I held him in my lap and told him what a good job he had done, and that he'd been surprised and... who knows what I said. I was heart broken too, for him. After the third, his face fought against crying, as he had after the first match, but there was a greater sense of resignation, as if he simply didn't get something or something was missing.

There is something missing. Caleb is gentle. He isn't like I remember myself to be at 8, angry, gnashing, desiring the exileration of violent actions. At times he'll make boy-like noises, "Die, die, die!!!" he sometimes screams, but he is manipulating his Raptor Robot to attack a pair of sneakers. His wrestling coach said to me, "When he gets in that 50-50 position, he doesn't know how to give maximum effort in one short burst. You know, explode on the other kid." And that's pretty much the case. And not being able to aggress in that manner costs him-- in wrestling, in status amongst other boys, in how the world rates, ranks, and categorizes little boys. Older ones too.

What is wrong with this picture? Do I want my son converted into something he naturally is not, or into a creature of lesser gentility, lesser compassion? When I think of the world around us and how harshly it will deal with my little angelic boy, my 8 year-old Alyosha, I want to hide in a cave with him and protect him from the dangers outside. But that is not reality, and instead, I kind of hold my mouth in a tight grimace and try not to let the world see how hurt I am that it will hurt him repeatedly until the sweetness is thrashed out of him.

Other paintings

This one now resides in a restaurant in New Haven. Don't miss it all that much to be honest. 

Interesting piece, in that I used a brush thoughout, which I rarely do on a piece this large. This is about 6 feet by 4 feet. 

Like this one, although others haven't. Long explication about the Wallace Stevens project and my Wallace Stevens project. 

This is a better view of the animal skin landscape hanging on a wall in my old living room/studio. 

Most of my paintings have letters written to Wallace Stevens printed in gold or silver pen in the solid color borders. 

This painting hangs like an animal skin on a wall. 

Detail.