After his first script read-through, Shane got into the car.
“Can I tell you about the play?” he asked breathlessly.
“Absolutely!” I said. “I’ve been waiting!”
“We read through the entire play and I don’t have any lines,” he said. “But I have a lot to do. I am a man of action.”
“Really!” I said. “What kind of action?”
“Well you know that guy, Brannigan, the police officer?”
“Yes,” I said. Shane read for the Brannigan part last week.
“One of my jobs is to, like, mimic him in everything he does. And I’m going to do a lot of different stuff, and I have to be really funny without saying any words at all!”
“That’s exciting!” I said.
And it is. Shane went on and on and on, during the entire trip home. He talked about all the comic elements in the play that had been added for extra fun. I was not only relieved, but actually getting excited about seeing the play.
As we pulled into the garage Shane said, “So I’m feeling a lot better about the play. I think it’s going to be a blast.”
That was just what I wanted to hear.
It was so exciting, in fact, that I drove all the way home, enjoying the conversation – and totally forgot that I was supposed to pick up Dylan at play practice, too.
Shane auditioned for the school play.
Then he got a callback, too. He read for four different parts – two of which were parts he really wanted. One was a much larger part than he’d expected.
Shane came home, excited by the possibilities. He talked about the varying inflections he used when becoming different characters. I could tell by the light in his eyes and the excitement in his voice that he gave that audition everything he had.
The next day, they posted the cast list after school.
“Well…?!” I texted to him, while he was on the bus ride home. No response.
I drove to the bus stop to greet him.
“We got our parts,” he said, as he climbed into the car. “I’m an extra with no lines.”
His eyes filled instantly with tears, and I wanted to cry, too. But I just held him for a minute, and then we drove home.
After some talking, and looking up his part on the web, we discovered that he is one of the four “comic glue” gangsters in the play, Guys and Dolls, Jr. Shane will need to do a lot of acting without speaking – which can be incredibly challenging.
Two of Shane’s best friends play the other “comic glue” gangsters. His parts will be intertwined with his friends’ parts throughout the play.
We drove to the library and got the Guys and Dolls DVD, to get a feel for the action. There’s a ton of dancing and singing – and while there are certainly some large roles (for folks like Frank Sinatra and Marlon Brando, for example), many of the parts are supporting roles. And without those supporting roles, there would be no play at all.
Shane and I talked about all of this, and by the next day, he seemed a little more excited about his part. I gave him the option of dropping out of the play, but he never hesitated.
“I will take whatever part I get,” he insisted.
Optimism may not be Shane’s first inclination, but I sincerely believe that he will have a great time with this play. And I’m betting he will be a fantastic gangster.
Dylan sent me a text: “I am in shock. I got three C’s and two A’s on my exams.”
There was no response. (I was at the gym.) A few minutes later, he tried again.
D: “Guess what the A’s were in.”
ME: “English and Spanish?”
D: “You got one of them right.”
ME: “Spanish.”
D: “Yep.”
ME: “And History.”
D: “No.”
ME: “Geometry?”
D: “No.”
Pause. Think, think, think. It can’t possibly be Biology. What other classes had exams? He didn’t take exams in any other classes!
ME: “YOU GOT AN A IN BIOLOGY??!”
D: “Yep. Aced it.”
ME: “That’s awesome!”
D: “Yea.”
ME: “Congratulations!”
D: “Thanks.”
Dylan really struggled in Honors Biology, both quarters. It’s a tough class and he has a hard time keeping current with the class. So when exam time came, Dylan studied and studied and studied for Biology. He studied for 30 or 60 minutes a night for about a week for Biology. And when the day came, he knew everything there was to know about the first two quarters of Honors Biology.
So the Biology exam was on the first day of exams, along with the Spanish exam. After that, he was kind of tired and didn’t study much. And it showed in his grades.
But I am not focusing on the negative today. Today, we focus on the positive.
My boy got an A on his Honors Biology exam.
So I spent a day calculating Dylan’s GPA. At the mid-way point in 9th grade, and including the high-school-level classes he took in middle school, he has a 3.22 (unweighted). A 3.22 GPA – according to at least one website – will not get him into the college of his choice. But it might get him into a college. Then again, it might not.
So I recalculated a GPA with more A’s than B’s. I looked at his class schedule, and just imagined the classes in which he could have A’s. I guessed. And with the recalculation, his GPA went up to a 3.55!
The new (imagined) GPA puts him higher into the “maybe” category for many of his (so far) chosen colleges. He has selected some pretty interesting colleges – so far – and they’re not necessarily easy to attend.
So I did one final recalculation. I imagined that he had A’s in all of his classes this year. And his GPA leaped to 3.78 – a GPA that would allow him to get into the college of his choice, as long as he wasn’t planning to attend an Ivy League school.
So we talked about it. I showed him the different GPAs, how they’re calculated, what the colleges might do with them.
Then for the first time ever, I accepted the fact that he might not care if he gets into the college of his choice. He might not care about scholarships. He might just want to be a singing sensation, and isn’t planning to try to do anything else with his life.
When I was 15, I wanted to be a backup singer (and maybe guitar player) for Tom Petty. So who am I to think my son really wants to go to college?
But – without any prompting from me, because I was quite literally letting Dylan “off the hook” – he said he does care. Dylan really, really, really wants to go to college.
So I said, “Okay. If you care, you can do this. You are brilliant. You have been brilliant since the day you were born. I have never had any doubt that you can do it. There are only two things keeping you from getting A’s.”
I held up two fingers.
“First is missing work. Talk to every teacher after every class, every day. That is how to make sure you never have missing work. And the second thing is that you need to study.”
“I do study,” he said, for the millionth time.
“You need to study more,” I said. “And more often. Spend five minutes a day going over what you learned in each class. Then you won’t have to cram so much before a test. And you will be ready for pop quizzes when they appear. And that’s it.”
Two things: talk to your teachers. Study every day.
Then I said, “This is your quarter. See what you can do.”
“Okay,” Dylan said. He sounded almost excited about the opportunity.
Then he played the piano, spun around in circles in the kitchen for awhile, then nearly knocked me over so he could play a song called Crazy Frog on the computer.
And the quarter has begun.
Dear Dylan,
You are six feet tall. Your hands and feet are huge. Your voice is deep and strong. You are growing into a man before my very eyes.
It scares me.
It scares me that you are so big, you could squash me at any time. It scares me that you will leave here sooner than I would like. It scares me that you will be driving a car soon, and cars are dangerous, and every time I think about you driving, I remember that little electric car you drove when you were a toddler.
In fact, I keep forgetting that you’re not a toddler anymore.
So many times, when I look at you, I see that little redheaded boy, only two feet tall. I remember getting down on my knees to hug you. I remember kneeling and waiting with my arms outstretched, and you running at me, full force, laughing and knocking me over as I caught you in my arms.
I remember that gorgeous smile, so full of hope and excitement, your eyes sparkling all day long. You smiled up at me from your crib, and didn’t stop until sixth grade. And now when you smile, it’s even more meaningful, lighting up the room and melting my soul.
Watching you grow has taught me so much – how to help you and, more times than not, how to back off. But what I have learned more than anything from raising you for 15 years is that time is supercharged during the parenting years. One minute, I was a kid fresh out of college; the next minute, you were on your way to college. The time in the middle is just a blur of the happiest memories in my life.
I try to hold on to those memories. I kept a lot of journals. I took a lot of pictures.
But mostly I just remember you running at me, full force, laughing and knocking me over as I caught you in my arms.
Love,
Mom
We were playing one of Shane’s new favorite games, Family Feud, based on the TV show of the same name. In a classic sense, it is a game that requires one to guess what other people might think about a specific topic.
For example, a question might be: Name a place where you might find hot dogs. And the answers might be “restaurant,” “baseball game” and “school cafeteria.”
The topics are simple, but guessing the top answers of 100 random people – well, that’s not as easy.
We had friends over – conveniently another family – and were all having a wonderful “feud” when the following query emerged:
Name something that you feel before you buy.
Shane’s hand was the first one to hit the imaginary buzzer.
“Sadness,” he said.
There was a half-second pause before a riot of laughter ensued.
Whereas the Family Feud card was asking about something that a person might touch before purchasing, Shane’s mind leapt to an emotion that might be connected with the purchase.
And interestingly enough, he thought people would feel sad, rather than elated, when buying something.
Sadness. People feel sadness before they buy something. Both teams were laughing.
“Shane often thinks outside the box,” I said. “In this case, I don’t think a box even existed!”
Tears streamed down my face. I was laughing so hard, I could hardly talk.
“Sadness?” I choked. “Not even joy or excitement?”
Shane’s eyes were wide. He had no idea why his guess was so funny.
“Sadness because you were losing your money, maybe,” he said.
Ah, I thought, tears still rolling. At least now it makes sense!
The top answers, for the record, were things like “fruits/vegetables” and “clothing.”
I have always been an out-of-the-box thinker. As a result, people have always thought I was a little weird. And to be fair, I am a little weird.
I’m so glad to have Shane in my life.
Shane reminds me that “out-of-the-box” is more than just different. Many times, it is just simple brilliance.
When the new semester started, Dylan did not start marching home from school like a soldier, backpack in hand, new phone app ready with a list of items to study that evening. He did not suddenly start talking to every teacher after class, making sure his assignments were turned in. And he did not have a complete list at the ready, covering what would be due for the week in every one of his seven classes.
Instead, he did what he always does.
He completely ignored the first day of class because, he said, he “didn’t do anything except go over class expectations.” On the second day, he didn’t see any reason to study anything since classes had “really just started.” And by Day 3, he came home with a zero – not for a missing assignment, but because the teacher couldn’t read Dylan’s handwriting on the assignment.
So it should have been no surprise on Day 4 when Dylan had a pop quiz. It was only two questions, but he got them both wrong. Surprise! He hadn’t studied one minute during the entire week, so I wasn’t all that surprised.
Oddly, it still stumped him. “I just got mixed up because really I knew both answers,” he said. In other words, it wasn’t because he didn’t study. It was because he randomly got confused about things he believed he knew.
Perhaps he can try that line on his college application. He could title his personal essay, How Confusion Caused my GPA to Plummet Without Displaying My True Intelligence.
That should work out well for him.
Shane is drumming.
For his instrumental music class, Shane needs to drum – or more specifically, practice his percussion – for 25 minutes a day, five days a week. So every day, when Shane comes home, he recites this as part of his homework regimen.
Some days, he’ll say, “I am not going to practice drums today because….” And then he will give a logical reason why not, and put that extra day into his future homework schedule.
He is a fine drummer. He’s substantially better now than when he started playing drums in third grade, and he seems to really enjoy it.
But he is a stickler for details. So he plans that 25 minutes meticulously. If he is interrupted, he knows exactly how long he’s practiced – and how many more minutes he needs to practice. And he never forgets to finish those minutes.
This week, the kids are choosing classes for seventh grade. Shane is considering taking band at the next level.
Next year, he will need to practice for 30 minutes.
This is huge. When one is focused on every second of every minute of practice, adding five whole minutes is a giant step.
“That’s 25 minutes a week!” he exclaimed earnestly.
Earlier in the year, Shane was concerned that he wouldn’t be able to handle that extra five minutes. But after the holiday concert, they added in some more complex music. They gave him something to practice that he’d be playing with the high school band. “Complex” is an understatement for the piece of music he’s working on now.
He loves it. In fact, the more complex it gets, the more he loves it.
So when the course booklets were passed around, he chose band as one of his two electives.
And next year, I’m quite certain he’ll be aware of every second of every one of those 30-minute practice sessions.
One of the reasons Dylan is dropping chorus is because chorus takes place during second period.
At Dylan’s high school, they run on a semester schedule – to an extent. Some of the classes go right along, as if nothing had changed. Other classes are only half-year classes and end in January. All the classes have two parts – which means you can change classes midway through for almost any reason.
This is not something the school likes to broadcast, and they gave me a hard time when I started poking around. But as it happens, Dylan has an IEP – so he gets a bit of “special” treatment, especially when it comes to possible class failure.
The big issue is that Dylan’s energy starts to wane right around sixth period. Historically, whatever class he takes last is the class he hates most – and also the class in which he does most poorly. Last year, for example, English and Spanish were his last two classes – and his worst.
Now in high school, he has computer science class last. He’s been doing a great job in the class, because it’s entirely hands-on. There are no mind-numbing lectures and there’s no paperwork. Computers are one of the things that Dylan can do endlessly without tiring. He can stay focused when something is on a computer. And best of all, he loves it.
But next semester, computer science moves to sixth period. Dylan was scheduled to have English and Geometry as his last two classes.
The deadly last two classes were going to include math – which is already a struggle.
So I talked to Dylan. I talked to the school. And we fixed it.
We found a P.E. class that he can take last period – yay! Dylan desperately needs P.E. class. (In fact, while they only “need” one year of P.E. to graduate, I’d like him to take P.E. every year.) We moved Geometry to first period, which bumped history to second period – and eliminated chorus, the only class he was willing to drop.
“So I have a really hard morning and nothing to do in the afternoon!” he said gleefully.
“You still have English seventh period,” I reminded him.
Dylan loves his English teacher, and while he doesn’t always turn in his work, he enjoys the class.
“So nothing bad to do in the afternoon!” he said.
We are all set for second semester.
After only 12 years, Shane decided that he would like to have some shirts that he likes.
This means that his cousin’s and his brother’s clothes are no longer sufficient for him. In fact, most of his brother’s clothes were previously worn by at least one, and often two, of his other cousins – so Shane’s clothes are not second-hand, but more like … fourth-hand.
Now Shane is declaring independence. So I sat him down one night, with the intention of taking him to the mall for a shopping spree.
“So you were telling me that you wanted some different shirts,” I began.
Shane groaned, “Please don’t tell me we’re going shopping.”
“Well, I was going to take you shopping. And I think it will be fun.”
“Every time I go shopping with Dylan, I just sit on a bench.”
“Well, we wouldn’t be going shopping with Dylan. In fact, you and I have never gone shopping together – not alone, anyway. It’ll be just you and me. And you can tell me what stores you want to go in, and you don’t have to go into any stores unless you choose them.”
Shane’s attitude didn’t improve even slightly. So after he finally conceded, we stopped at a playground near the mall, where he ran and jumped and climbed and swung for 15 minutes.
Then we went to the mall.
We walked in through Macy’s, so that he was hit – first thing – with tons of variety. We were in the boys’ clothing department for 20 minutes. Shane liked one Nike swoosh shirt, but he said he didn’t love it. So we moved on.
We planned to eat dinner at Noodles – on the other side of the mall – so I picked up some sushi to carry with us. We passed store after store after store after store.
Shane didn’t want to look inside any of them.
Finally, we got to our dinner destination. That’s something he wanted to do. So we ate dinner.
Then we went to Nordstrom’s, next door, at my suggestion. He didn’t like any of that stuff. We went to the Gap – again, at my suggestion.
No interest in anything.
In spite of his initial unwillingness to shop, Shane wasn’t rude about it. He had a superb attitude, and we had a lot of fun. He pointed at things and laughed at things and he actually looked at many available shirts. But nothing struck his fancy.
So we went home.
When we got home, I went to his chart and gave him a bonus star (big reward) for having a good attitude, and for trying a new thing.
Shane said, “Well, I did want to thank you for taking me to that playground, because as soon as I started playing on the playground, my attitude improved.”
Lesson learned: Playground first; shopping … sometime way later.
