Don’t. Do. Anything.
The new school year is two weeks old.
I am on a mission.
My mission is this: Don’t. Do. Anything.
Keep my mouth shut. Say nothing to Dylan about school. Don’t ask about his classes. Don’t ask about his homework. Don’t force him to study. Don’t remind him about the SATs coming up in a month. Don’t remind him about turning in his various parent and community service forms.
Don’t check the computer to see if he’s turned in all of his work. Don’t email the teacher when I “accidentally” discover that he is, indeed, missing work. Don’t email his case worker. Don’t even email his case worker tell her that I’m not planning to email her this year.
Don’t check in randomly with the case manager, the teachers, the principal, or last year’s teachers, “just in case” I am needed for anything.
Don’t ask about frisbee, playing in the church band, or rock climbing club, some of Dylan’s favorite things which he has decided to never do again. I learned this the hard way, by asking. This rule made it onto the list after our conversation about extracurriculars.
So far, I have emailed two teachers for two separate reasons. One of them was a good reason. The other was not. But I was still practicing the “don’t do anything” motto, and hadn’t quite figured it out yet.
I also reminded Dylan to turn in some forms to get credit for his community service – three times. I have special trouble with this particular part of my mission, because I spent many hours of my own driving him back and forth to get those community service hours.
I only asked him about homework once. I only checked his grades once. Well, twice. The first time, he had three ‘A’s – and no other grades.
The second time, he had five ‘A’s and one ‘B.’ And then I did yell, “Hey, what happened to your ‘A’ in History?” up the stairs.
Dylan yelled back, “I had a missing assignment and I turned it in already.” I was sorry I asked. Not because he’d turned in a missing assignment, but because he’d been so responsible in finding out that it was missing and turning it in for credit. I wish I had just let it slide.
It’s my mission.