Thpecial

After days and days of anticipation, my son and I finally arrived at today. Was it the completion of his summer project? No. The last summer field trip? Not that either. It was his trip to the orthodontist to pick up his long-awaited retainer.
 
Now, anyone who has ever had braces couldn't possibly imagine someone being gleeful about getting a retainer. Yet, in my son's mind, this event was right up there with all the exciting road trips of our summer. I wondered why--was it that his teeth were bothering him and he knew this would help? Unlikely. I think that the idea of having a retainer made him feel special. After all, it would be one thing he would do before his older sisters (and when you're a third child, not much falls into that category).
 
As we came out of the appointment, and he was having difficulty pronouncing any word containing an "s" or a "z," I'm not sure if he felt so special any more.
 
It seems to me that most of us spend a lot of time looking for things that set us apart, make us feel special. Whether it's a promotion at work or the publishing of something we've written, the praise of a colleague, or just an outfit that goes perfectly together, it feels good to stand out, to know that something about us makes us rise above the crowd.
 
As my son found out (and will keep finding out for the several months of wearing the retainer), however, sometimes "special" comes at a price. For him, it will mean "thpecial" and "Thaturday" and "thpaghetti," and a thing in a case that he has to make sure doesn't end up in the school lunch garbage. For those of us who strive to be special at work, the price can be longer hours, more challenging projects, and the sacrifice of time with our families. It's up to us to know what price of "special" is worth it to us. My son will come out with straighter and, we hope, healthier teeth. When we adults get the "special" for which we strive, do we get such definite (and worthwhile) return on our investment? I'm not sure.
 
I don't think that the risk will stop most of us from going for the "special." If nothing else, it keeps life interesting, and it is our daily invitation to reach a little higher (or to appreciate the little triumphs in our lives).
 
By the end of today, my son's "thpecial" was close to back to "special," so, in the end, he could enjoy his new retainer without that much difficulty. And, come Monday, when he returns to school with metal in his mouth and a plastic case in his lunchbox, he'll get a little taste of "special" all over again. I'm sure he won't be the only one with this or many other stories to tell, but he'll have physical proof, right as he talks, of what he did this summer. And, if all goes well, the story will keep him feeling pretty special.