After much tussling with Dylan’s high school class schedule – trying to fit in IB classes and sufficient hands-on classes to keep him able to focus for four years – he decided to take his required half-year health course online, over the summer.
We have to pay for the course, but it frees up an entire half-year of school for him to take P.E. or chorus or computers, or something else that he really enjoys. So it’s probably worth the small cost.
Getting into these online classes is notoriously difficult – something akin to getting into a popular preschool or getting front row tickets to Madonna. So I emailed my registration form within a minute of opening, then hand-delivered my check. We did not want to miss this wonderful opportunity.
The only caveat for taking the course online is that students must be at two face-to-face meetings, in person, or they pay for the course and don’t get any credit, even if they do all the work. So those two face-to-face meeting dates are VERY important.
We got our confirmation by email, and I jumped up to mark our (still paper) calendar. That’s when I discovered that Dylan is already registered for another class on the exact same date and time.
Dylan is taking Driver’s Ed this summer, too.
One class is from 4-7:15 p.m. The other class is from 4-8:00 p.m.
He literally has to be in two places at the same time, I thought.
I had a brief vision of FaceTiming Dylan into one (or both!) of the classes. I mean, he’s not going to be paying attention at either place anyway.
Then I considered calling the Driver’s Ed people and asking if we could take Class #7 at another location on another day. But that would cost us money and be incredibly challenging.
So I called the school’s “e-Learning” office within five minutes of receiving Dylan’s confirmation email, and explained the situation. I asked if we could change the time (but not the date) of the class – and surprise! It was no trouble at all.
Dylan might be a little late for Class #7 of Driver’s Ed. Okay, he may be half an hour late.
But hey, we got it all in.
It is Dylan’s last day of school. Starting tomorrow, he has one exam each day – which will represent 33% of his final semester grade.
Going into exams, he has four C’s in four classes. One of his classes – Biology – is a solid C for the semester. It was a B last semester, but with a C this semester, he will have a C for the class.
This goes on his college transcript, and there is nothing he can do to change it.
But the other C’s can change. If Dylan gets great grades on his exams, he will be able to pull himself out of the gutter, one more time.
Dylan, however, decided that this weekend, he had no real desire to study. He was tired, he said, and just didn’t feel like he could get up off the chair. He claimed he had studied some, and that he will do fine on the exams if he just studies a little bit more.
In other words, he chose this weekend to be a typical adolescent. Instead of rising to the challenge, and becoming the student he knows he can be, he let the pressure smack him down and hold him there.
So what did I do?
Well, after I suggested that he study, and after I said NO, your friends can NOT come over, and after I explained why this weekend was so important, and after I handed him three study guides that I printed, and after I told him no electronics until he’d done the work that was due on the last day of school, and after I yelled about the importance of working on school work THIS weekend… then, finally, I gave up.
And oddly, I believe that if it weren’t for me, he wouldn’t have even done the work that was due on the last day of school, let alone studied for exams.
But let’s be honest: he says he cares. He says and says and says he cares. But he has yet to really SHOW that he cares.
He says he’s studying a lot. He says and says and says he is studying. He says he studies because he cares even more than I do.
I really do care. If I were in charge of doing the work, I would be spending hours and hours and hours more on studying and getting ready for exams.
I watch him do very, very little – and I care very much.
Shane – quite suddenly – has two C’s. OVERALL C’s, in two separate classes.
I wasn’t paying much attention to his grades this year, quite honestly, since he had straight A’s during the first quarter and made the honor roll all year long.
But now he has two C’s. He also has a B in the class where the teacher told me in October, “I’d like a whole classroom full of Shanes.” He has A’s in English, Instrumental Music and P.E.
When I look back through the grades that are bringing down his overall grades, they are tests, quizzes, labs. Unlike Dylan, Shane gets his work done on time. But apparently, he isn’t working very hard on … well, anything. He is giving it his bare minimum effort, and he has no idea how to study.
We are not going to wait for him to learn to study. This isn’t something they teach in school. But I can certainly work with him on studying. Just like I’ve worked with him on going back over his work after he completes a quiz – although he rarely actually does go back over his work before he turns it in.
It is becoming increasingly clear that Shane needs a little help, too.
Dylan is brilliant, and we all know that, but his grades are not good. Shane is brilliant and we all know that – except Shane. And while his grades were spectacular at the beginning of the year, they have gone rapidly downhill without the attention Shane needs.
We’re a little late to pull up his grades this year. But we can certainly work on study skills and prepare for next year.
After all, Shane will be taking two high-school-level classes next year, which means they will go on his college transcript. Yep, college. It’s already time to worry about his college transcript.
He is 12.
I seem to be aging rapidly as my kids are growing, and I am worrying about – among other things – how my brain is behaving. It doesn’t appear to be as capable as it once was of handling simple math, for example. It doesn’t seem to recall simple words as quickly as it once did. Words like “anonymous” and “toaster” occasionally elude me.
This is annoying, so I decided to play some simple brain games online to help my brain revive.
I’m happy to have this option. In fact, I rather enjoy puzzles, and my youth is filled with video game madness. So I was looking forward to this task.
Unfortunately, these games are not terribly fun. They are okay – and I would certainly recommend them to anyone worried about their brain’s decline – but when it comes right down to it, I struggle through some of the games.
After a particularly poor experience trying to figure out a tip for a waitress, I decided to play Countdown. It is an incredibly simple (though not easy) math game with three numbers and a goal. You can choose your own difficulty level, so I chose “2” out of 10 (“very easy”).
There are three math problems, and no time limit. I love that there is no time limit. But it took me ten minutes to get the first answer. And after spending ten minutes on the second problem, I whined aloud.
Dylan was playing the piano in the other room. “Dylan,” I called over the piano. “Can you help me?”
Usually this means he needs to lift a box for me, or reach something on a top shelf. But today, it was math.
“What?” he asked, coming in, ready to lift.
“I can’t do this math problem,” I said. I explained the concept.
Dylan grabbed the mouse, went click! click! click! and the problem was done.
“Thanks,” I said.
“Sure,” he said, and went back to the piano.
I went on to the next problem. As I was studying it, and studying it, and studying it, Shane came home from school. He walked in while I was still perplexed.
“That looks like fun,” he said.
“I am not having fun,” I said. “Go ahead. Give it a try.”
Shane clicked! six times before he had the answer.
I let him do the next three problems by himself. And I went off to do the laundry.
Finally, finally, finally, Dylan seems to be taking some responsibility for himself. He has been coming home from school, knowing what is due the next day, and doing his ultimate best to get it in on time.
But he didn’t print out his history paper. He worked on it until midnight, but forgot to print it out. And when he went to class without it, the teacher wouldn’t allow him to go to the media center to print it out. Dylan had to wait until lunchtime to print it out, and then he turned it in immediately.
So the history teacher substantially docked Dylan’s grade.
I asked Dylan to do some self-advocating, and let him know how hard he had tried. So Dylan emailed the teacher. I won’t reprint his email here, but it brought tears to my eyes. Dylan explained what happened, and asked for a tiny bit of mercy.
But the teacher had no mercy.
Dylan, this assignment was given out last week. As I stated in class, in was due at the end of class on Tuesday. The exception was anyone that was typing their paper was permitted to turn it in on Wednesday at the beginning of class due to the fact that we do not have a printer in the classroom. Effectively giving everyone who needed it, extended time to complete the assignment.
That didn’t feel like “extended time” to me. So I sent a follow-up note to the teacher. I couldn’t help myself. I asked him to reconsider on this project, since Dylan had given it his best effort. I “cc”d Dylan’s case manager at school. The case manager called, but the teacher never responded.
Dylan got a C on the paper.
Shortly thereafter, Dylan told me that he had – also in history class – turned in a PowerPoint project via the computer, only to later realize that he was supposed to have printed out the PowerPoint.
“That’s not what I asked for,” said the teacher. “So I’m giving you a D.”
This seemed a bit random to me. Dylan doesn’t do “D” work – or even “C” work. He does A work that is often turned in late. It doesn’t seem fair to take an A project and turn it into a D project, just because it wasn’t submitted via the correct format.
I emailed Dylan’s case manager again. I thank God for Dylan’s case manager. She doesn’t coddle – him or me! – but she knows what’s right and wrong. We both know that Dylan has been struggling lately with the apathy of a typical teenager.
And she also knows that the teacher can only dock Dylan by 10% if his work is a day late. And that the lowest grade he can get is a 50%. These were things I did not know. So she is meeting with Dylan to find out more about the situation. And then we may have to have a face-to-face meeting with the teacher, too.
It just seems so unfair: Dylan gives up on himself and gets D’s and E’s. THEN Dylan decides to pull himself up and do all the right things, and he gets C’s and D’s.
But only in one class. The other classes are coming along nicely. So we shall see what happens.
The end of the year is fast approaching….
Shane came into my bedroom at 4 a.m. – less than three hours before he was supposed to get up for school. I heard him, and reached out in the darkness.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, touching his arm, knowing instinctively that he wasn’t sick.
“I can’t sleep,” Shane said. “And it’s been two hours.”
“Do you want to try to sleep with me?” I asked, pulling a pillow over for him.
“I think it will help,” he said, climbing in.
I did my best to comfort him, even sharing one of my own stuffed animals, but Shane didn’t sleep for a long time. As a fellow insomniac, I lay awake next to him until he did sleep, maybe 40 minutes later.
In that 40 minutes, I thought mostly about Shane’s bassinet.
We lived in a two-bedroom rental when Shane was born, with no room for another crib. We were building our current house, which wasn’t quite finished. So we put a bassinet in the office for Shane.
But Shane was born in the dead of winter, and there was no air circulation – or heat – in that bassinet. When I picked him up, no matter how much I bundled him, Shane was freezing cold.
We moved the bassinet into our room, but it was still too cold. So after about a week of trial and error, Shane slept between us in our bed.
Three months later, the new house was finished and Shane got a crib and his own room. He slept in the crib until he started to climb out of it – when he was barely two. He would show up next to our bed in his tiny pajamas, too short to climb up by himself.
So we got him a toddler bed, which was shaped like a car and totally cool. The mattress, however, wasn’t all that comfortable. So sometimes Shane would climb out of the toddler bed and wander into our room.
There were a few years when seeing Shane next to my bed in the middle of the night was … expected. And knowing he would grow up made those moments … treasured.
But now, it’s not so expected. I still treasure having him there, but I remember that cold bassinet, and how easy it was to comfort him then.
And then I think about the nights in his future, where Shane can’t get back to sleep and he won’t know why. This happens to me all the time. I have suffered from insomnia for my entire life. I found that sports and exercise help a lot. Skipping sugar helps. I am teaching this all to Shane.
Meanwhile, he struggled so much last night, just to get some needed rest. He went to school today – on time, because he didn’t want to skip math class – after six hours of very interrupted sleep. I told him to call me if he’s too tired to focus in school. I told him I would come and get him and he could rest.
But Shane won’t call. He will keep going, and be contented for the most part, and we will talk tonight again about exercise and sports and movement.
And he will sleep well tonight, with no school tomorrow. But his insomnia will return. And someday, I won’t be there to comfort him. I won’t be there to pull him out of his cold bassinet, and cuddle him until he can sleep. He will have to comfort himself.
And while I know it’s for the best that he learn how to comfort himself, I will treasure my job as long as it lasts.
Dear Dylan,
Attached are your current grades.
In an attempt to show you what I’ve been talking about, I am giving you a visual aid. If you do SCHOOL FIRST, your best will come naturally. In fact, YOUR CURRENT GRADES REFLECT THAT.
I took these grades directly from Edline. These are YOUR GRADES. You have some E’s and Z’s to take care of NOW (or you don’t get your phone this weekend) but you ALSO have a ton of good work that we rarely recognize (because we EXPECT that). We need to start recognizing your GOOD work more often!
All I did was separate out the things you turned in late, or didn’t turn in at all, from the GOOD work you did. I separated out the things you DID finish, and DID turn in on time, from the stuff you didn’t. It gives you two different pictures of the SAME GRADES.
There is STILL TIME. You still have a few weeks to step up and change “the way it is.” And if you do, the LAST PAGE is how your transcript CAN look at the end of THIS year.
I am not showing you this because “you don’t already know.” It is just a visual aid. It is just a visual picture of what YOU can accomplish if you put SCHOOL FIRST. It is the difference between what you’ve been doing and what you can do. Take a look.
then….
I attached Dylan’s grades to this letter – six pages from this quarter. But I split them into two sections: the work he had turned in on time, and the work he had not turned in on time. Then I actually pulled out a calendar and tallied his grades for the quarter. Then I wrote out his grades for his entire transcript.
The results were astounding.
Based on only the work Dylan turned in on time, Dylan has four A’s and three B’s for the quarter. Based on only the work Dylan turned in late, he has one A, two B’s, three C’s and a D for the quarter.
Exams are next week – and they represent a third of his quarter grade. With serious study and work, he could pull those grades up. When I calculated his final grades for his full transcript, pulling up his grades NOW is the difference between a college transcript with five A’s and five B’s – and a transcript with two A’s, five B’s and three C’s.
I don’t know if the visual aid helped Dylan. But it sure helped me.
Shane gets overlooked.
I worry about this, but I thought it was just me. Sometimes I have trouble picking him out of a crowd. He blends in beautifully and I am always delighted to find him, but he has been known to go right past me without my seeing him.
This must be my fault. He’s my second child, so I am less careful with him than I was with Dylan. He’s quieter than Dylan, less demanding. And anyone living in a household with Dylan gets less attention than he should. Dinnertime conversation often goes something like this:
“Dylan, when I call you downstairs you need to come downstairs! I shouldn’t have to go up and get you! Don’t tell me it’s MY fault! But it is your fault! Stop yelling at me! I am NOT yelling! I am just stating a fact! Well, it’s a fact that I just can’t always hear you when you call me! And I don’t even like this dinner! Well you’re going to EAT this dinner! But I TOLD you I don’t like it! I don’t care! Eat it anyway! … So, Shane, how was your day?”
It’s a sad commentary on the little guy’s life. But it’s not just a problem at home.
Shane got on the bus to ride home from school last week, and the bus driver stopped him.
“Do you ride this bus?” he asked Shane.
“Yes,” Shane said.
“Well, I’ve never seen you before,” said the bus driver.
“You see me every day,” Shane said.
“I don’t remember you,” the bus driver said. “Sit down in the front seat.”
Shane sat down next to the driver.
“Do you know this boy?” he asked the next child who got onto the bus.
“No,” said the kid.
“Do you know this boy?” the bus driver asked another kid.
“No,” said that one.
This went on for several minutes. No one recognized Shane.
Finally, a girl in the back of the bus saw what was going on, and she came forward. “I know him,” she said.
“Does he ride this bus?” the bus driver asked the girl.
“Yes,” she said.
“Okay,” the bus driver said. He looked at Shane suspiciously. “You can go sit where you want.”
So Shane went and found a seat – his normal seat – on his bus.
I’m not sure if I’m amused or appalled by this incident. On one hand, it says a lot about the bus driver – who is probably a total idiot. But maybe he’s also being extra cautious.
On the other hand, what would have happened if no student had vouched for Shane’s existence? Would Shane have been denied the great privilege of riding his own bus home? Or would he have been forced to sit at the front of the bus until the bus driver started to recognize him?
I am making a conscious effort to notice Shane now. I started by changing my Facebook profile to Shane’s play announcement. He’s very excited to be in a play this weekend.
And I am planning some special time with him, like we did when he was much younger. Shane needs some special time. He deserves some special time.
And for me, time with Shane is absolutely treasured – so I am really looking forward to it.
The bus driver doesn’t know what he is missing.
The New Arrangement, thus far, is no fun. With no cell phone at school, Dylan has had to come up with more creative ways to ignore his class work.
His biology teacher informed me that he was on someone else’s cell phone during class last week. Dylan assured me that it was because they were working together on a project, and they were going to figure out how to complete the project via cell phone over the weekend.
As far as I can tell, he never contacted his partner – and still hasn’t finished his project.
Just when I started to believe Dylan, though, his Geometry teacher emailed me and mentioned that, in the middle of Geometry class, Dylan had been taking out his Chromebook – the laptop computer we got to help Dylan because of his writing issues. Dylan assured us that he was only using it to check his grades (in the middle of Geometry).
I didn’t believe him this time.
So we’ve had to take away his Chromebook and his cell phone, during school. He has three missing assignments in Spanish, and three missing assignments in English. He got a D on his last Geometry test.
He has a huge test in Biology on Friday and, while he assures me that he’s been “studying” using quizlets on the computer, I have no faith that Dylan has been doing any quizlets at all. If he doesn’t get a solid A on the test, he will end up with a C in Biology.
Yet this doesn’t change his behavior. It just changes my behavior. I am furious that this kid screams that he wants to be responsible for himself, yet isn’t responsible enough to do the incredibly simple things we have asked him to do.
We are now talking about taking away other privileges: electronics on the weekends, concerts in the summer, Driver’s Ed class. I’m considering not allowing him to work at Field of Screams in the fall, which might be his favorite thing in the world – but it takes a lot of time away from school. And if he already isn’t paying attention to his classwork, adding another distraction isn’t going to help.
We take away and take away and take away, and yet Dylan finds ways around all the “stuff” he’s missing and doesn’t realize that his primary purpose is to do school work. We could take away everything he has, everything he does, and everything he wants, and he would still find a way to do absolutely nothing that he’s supposed to do.
I’m watching as he falls and falls and falls. And while I can take away the pretty things to look at on the way down, it is his choice to continue falling.
I can only watch him go into the abyss.
Shane was in the school play this weekend.
His part was minimal – but substantial. While his role was originally a no-named character with no lines, somewhere along the way he got a line – and he delivered it beautifully.
Shane opened one scene, carried a prop gun across the stage during another scene, and managed to be in Havana, Cuba and New York City simultaneously, for two separate scenes. He sang; he danced; he had a ball.
As a parent, it’s such an adventure watching from the audience. From the stories Shane told me about rehearsals, I could chuckle at some things that happened on stage that I may not have otherwise noticed. In spite of Shane’s relatively minor role, it’s impossible for me to take my eyes off of him when he’s on stage. I’m interested in every smile, every gesture, every step, every wink. I don’t want to miss a second of it.
And when, for one scene, he steps behind a curtain and I am on the wrong side of the audience to see his smiling face, I glance around at the other three dozen kids – and notice their talents, too.
Shane had a wonderful time working on the play, discovering the nuances of performing in a group, following a work from script-chunk auditions all the way to three, full-blown musicals.
Shane said that his favorite part of the play was just before the curtain rose, when the lights went out and the anticipation was so thick, it enveloped the entire group. And he felt the sheer joy when the production went off without a hitch, and as the curtain closed, the entire cast shrieked with delight.
When he talks about it, Shane reminds me of those few moments in my own school career, when I felt “part of” something tremendous. I played sports but for me, those moments came from deadlines before the school newspaper went to print, and all-nighters during the final weeks of yearbook production, Even proms and graduation were relatively meaningless moments in my memory, compared to the excitement I had during the finalizing of something my classmates and I created together.
And Shane’s weekend was just that – a spectacular culmination of months of hard work.
The afterglow is glorious.
