For much of my life, I kept my head in the sand with regard to the news. I decided ignorance is bliss. But sometime around January, I started paying attention again.
The world is collapsing around us.
Hundreds of thousands of people have died, and the virus is nowhere near its natural conclusion. Half of our country insists that it’s safe to wander mask-less through the streets; the other half warns of impending doom if we allow ourselves such freedoms.
I am in the latter half. I’ve been studying the countries ravaged by this disease before it hit our country. And everything I learn points to a sharp second wave that will sicken and kill thousands more.
To me, the protests about reopening the country seemed silly. Who’s going to cave to the vocal minority’s demands? And yet…
Here we are. The nation is opening up, even though the case numbers aren’t in the “safe” range for reopening. Even though millions are ignoring precautionary measures and selfishly doing it “their” way.
And then…
Yet another person was killed by a cold-hearted bully in the U.S. And the sociopath “leading” our country offered to defend the victim by shooting anyone who had the audacity to riot.
So our cities went up in flames. Peaceful protests were attempted. Riots erupted everywhere.
The cause is just: we expect all Americans to be treated equally. Like the Constitution says. Like the Bible says. Like common sense says.
White eggs and brown eggs are exactly the same inside, just like us. This is something I know to be true in the deepest part of my soul.
But somehow, crawling out from under countless moldy rocks, thousands of slimy racist creatures are emerging. If they weren’t so repulsive, I’d think them almost comical.
But they are real; they’ve incited riots. Which incited more riots.
While every dark-skinned person has known forever that these creatures not only existed but openly thrived in our country, I had my head in the sand on that. I spent my life believing that an 1865 speech, and another one in 1968, somehow changed the world.
After all, that’s what they taught me in school. I learned that all people living in the United States had the same inalienable rights. And those speeches that they taught us in school weren’t just words to me; they represented a change that had actually taken place.
Why wouldn’t this be true? HOW couldn’t this be true? Up until just a short time ago, I believed wholeheartedly that the color of our skin, the religion we practice, the language we speak, our sexual orientation, and the country of our ancestors’ births were 100% irrelevant factors in deciding whether or not to treat someone with kindness.
I mean, I thought we were all humans. More importantly, I thought everyone thought we were all humans.
But what I see is our country on the verge of another civil war. If our eyes weren’t opened before, they simply must be open now. The slime won’t crawl back under their rocks, and the rest of us are dumbstruck and furious that they’ve done irreparable damage to not only the people who have died, but to the very soul of this country.
And this war is beginning right in the heart of a pandemic that’s killing more than a thousand people every day.
I pray to God that we find a peaceable solution – simple acceptance of our fellow human beings – before more people have to die.
And yet, they are still dying – right now – literally, as I write.
When researching Shane’s synesthesia, I kept seeing things that said it’s likely that synesthesia is genetic. There was even some debate about whether the gene is found on the X chromosome.
I find the whole thing fascinating – probably even more so than Shane does – so I read and read about it.
I was just finishing up my reading when I caught this out of the corner of my eye:
I just have a different kind of synesthesia than Shane does. He has Colored grapheme synesthesia, and I have auditory-tactile synesthesia.
When I was young – as far back as I can remember – I had a tactile response to music. Some songs caused a reaction of actually painful goose bumps on my legs. I was young, and it was odd, but it was how my body reacted. Other than its being painful, I didn’t give it much thought until I got older.
I got more into music when I was 14. In high school, I scoured the earth looking for someone whose legs reacted to music the way mine did. When a song would come on and I would get those bumps, I would look around and ask my friends: “Does this happen to you?”
As a teen, I wanted to be like everyone else. But most people thought I was nuts, so I learned to keep quiet about it. And I never found a single person who got tangible bumps on their legs the way I did.
I grew accustomed to the bumps, and learned that if I didn’t freak out when they appeared, they weren’t painful anymore. In fact, they started to only appear when I heard songs to which I had a positive emotional attachment – and I didn’t mind the bumps anymore.
Other people got “warm fuzzies” when they liked a song, but my body nearly burst with goosebumps whenever my favorite songs played.
Somewhere along the way, I learned that those bumps would be especially prominent when I was in a large group of people, so it was even more obvious in college when I went to parties. Loud music and large groups were my life. As I grew older and went to concerts, even more bumps would appear.
Then one day, well into my forties, I was at a baseball game with my dad. “We Will Rock You” – a crowd favorite at sporting events – came on over the stadium loudspeakers. The whole stadium started stomping along. Naturally, my legs burst into goose bumps.
I looked next to me and there, on my dad’s legs, were the exact same bumps.
“You get them too?” I nearly screamed. How could I never have noticed before? I had asked every friend and colleague I’d ever known – but it never occurred to me that it might be genetic!
“Yeah,” my dad said. “It just happens.” He was almost apologetic. Like me, I doubt he’d ever found anyone else who had that reaction.
With all the reorganizing and renovating going on at home, I keep finding things I thought I’d lost. One of those things is a list from 2017 – letters and colors.
Back when I was checking to see if Shane had synesthesia – a very rare condition where the senses mingle – I tested him. I made a list of letters and asked him to tell me what color each letter “was” in his mind.
So the paper I found has two lists – one from March and one from April. Of the 26 letters, he listed the same colors on both lists for 21 of them. At the time, I thought it was amazing: he saw the letters “in color” almost exactly the same way for an entire month.
When I found the paper, though, I couldn’t help myself. After three years – 37 months actually – I tested Shane again.
I didn’t show him the original list; I didn’t want him to be swayed in any way. I just printed out the letters of the alphabet and asked him to list the colors that corresponded with each one.
After three years, only three letters had changed color drastically – and two of those had changed color between tests back in 2017. An additional four letters changed among shades of red: pink to red, red to orange, orange to red; a fifth changed from dark blue to purple.
And after three years, 18 of the letters stayed exactly the same color in his mind.
When I originally researched Shane’s synesthesia, I was concerned that he had some form of autism. I was panicked that something was wrong with him, and that this was proof.
But now, as some time has passed and I’ve grown a bit and gotten to know my son better, I don’t wonder “what he has” nearly as much as I think: he’s so interesting!
Shane and I were supposed to take a nice, long college road trip for spring break. I’d been planning it for months.
We were going to drive into upstate New York, cut through Ohio, and pick up Dylan in Tennessee. Then we were going to look at colleges in Alabama and Atlanta, and send Dylan back to college on an airplane from Atlanta. Shane and I were going to drive through South and North Carolina, respectively, stopping at colleges all the way home.
Of course, that didn’t happen. My guess is that we saved a few thousand dollars by not taking that trip.
Not long after we missed that trip, Bill’s conference in Los Angeles got canceled. And with it, our Hollywood/Disneyland trip disappeared. All of us had been looking forward to that vacation, but at least we saved some more money.
Dylan’s Italy trip was canceled, too. We’d budgeted $10,000 for it.
So we had some “extra” money for the first time since the kids were born. Basically, we had budgeted for vacations that simply weren’t happening. And, rather than saving our money for the trips that will surely take place sometime in the future, we decided to finally do something to make our house look less dated.
We got new floors. We got new carpet, too. And then, since we hadn’t painted since we moved in when Shane was born, we hired painters, too.
All of my life, I moved from house to house. I never had “upkeep” to worry about. If the oven gets dirty, I quipped, I’ll just move. It was pretty close to the truth. I never cleaned an oven until I was married.
But we’ve been in the same house since Shane was three months old. The oven has been cleaned countless times. But it took us more than a decade to plant bushes that thrived, and we finally screened in our back porch just a couple of years ago – our first “upgrade.”
So now, in the midst of the painting and flooring, the house is a mess – but it looks like a new house. It’s absolutely breathtakingly gorgeous! We have the same dumb furniture, all of it acquired haphazardly. I’m not exactly an interior decorator. I moved some pictures around and bought new curtains, and it looks pretty great.
I love the new look.
Now I just have to figure out how to pay for our upcoming trips. I’m looking forward to getting back to work and actually making money.
As we were walking into Dutch Wonderland on Monday, you saw
Duke the Dragon, and the Prince (aka ‘The Knight’) and the Princess greeting
people as they walked in. Someone had
told you the day before that you should give the dragon a high-five, so you
raced over to do so.
Duke didn’t see you right away, since he’s a 7-foot-tall
purple dragon and you’re just barely four feet (but finally 48” so you can ride
all the rides!) but you ran up with your hand out to give a high-five. Duke noticed you there and gave you a hug
instead.
The Prince high-fived you, then, and so did the Princess. You were so happy, I saw your eyes light up,
even from 10 feet away. Right then and
there you decided, ‘I like the Knight the best.’
Then you went and rode rides all day – including the most
monstrous of them all, the Kingdom Coaster!
You gave it a try, and loved it.
Today you told Dylan, “That hill looks scarier than it really is,
right?”
It’s something I hope you remember forever: it always looks
scarier than it really is.
Dylan was supposed to go to Italy for the month of May. He was going to be taking classes and exploring Europe for the first time in his life.
Years ago, Dylan decided he wanted to learn Italian. He met some people on a video game when he was a freshman in high school, and they taught him some Italian words. At one point, I thought he might actually teach himself the language.
But then Dylan dropped out of Spanish, and then he gave up on the IBCP program which would have required him to teach himself a new language. And that was the end of that.
Coincidentally, his First Year Seminar class was taught by an Italian professor. She had an accent and used Italian culture as a basis for their seminar studies.
As a freshman, Dylan didn’t have much of a chance to get into any of the coveted Maymester programs – especially not those in Europe. But because of his First Year Seminar professor, he was chosen to take part in the Maymester trip to Italy.
Dylan was thrilled with the opportunity – and also a little scared. He’d just gotten to college, and he didn’t want to leave his friends. But he was still excited and looking forward to exploring Europe. And of course, I was excited for him. I’ve never been to Italy, but at least I could live somewhat vicariously.
And then: the world stopped.
Italy was one of the first places to stop. Obviously, Dylan isn’t in Italy now. To be honest, none of us really wants him in Italy now. But still.
Italy was a dream country. It was a place so many of us dreamed about, wished we could see. And now – what will it be?
The natural beauty, the culture, the glory that once was Italy – none of that has changed. But with the death tolls and the destruction of the population, the certain falling of the economy and the terror felt by so many around the world – what will Italy become in the eyes of the world?
I would love to see Italy in its former glory. Now, I can only hope to still be around if and when that glory returns.
And I hope that Dylan – and maybe even Shane – will get a chance to see that glory, too.
The schools have finally – almost mercifully – decided to stay closed for the remainder of the school year.
While states are cautiously opening up, and teenagers are flocking back to the parks to see who gets coronavirus next, we are staying home. We are glad to stay home. We don’t need to be part of this particular petrie dish.
It’s interesting, watching Shane go through this fourth quarter. While we are still waiting to see what happens with grades, Shane seems perfectly content to do virtually nothing all day, every day.
In fact, Shane seems happier than I’ve seen him in a very long time.
Shane spends his days watching videos and TV, like most teenagers – but he also limits himself. He actually places limits on screen time, because he doesn’t want to overdo.
Even at the very beginning of this social distancing stuff, Shane realized he didn’t want to spend his life just sitting in front of a screen. He was the one who suggested family board games and puzzles. He’s also the one who comes up with interesting things to do – even if we don’t do them.
He makes lists on the computer of his favorite songs, movies and bands. He researches stuff on the computer that interests him. And he teaches himself tricks and things he may never have learned, if it hadn’t been for this “extra” time.
Shane took up drumming again, almost with a vengeance. He hadn’t drummed since 7th grade, and he barely touched his drum kit even when he was in band class. But some days, he drums for hours.
He started lifting weights and started a serious workout routine. While he absolutely adored his P.E. class, Net Sports, he’s added his P.E. regimen to his self-prescribed exercise routine.
Shane also takes the dog for long walks, and goes for bike rides by himself. He spends time with us, and with his brother. They’ve made music together. They even combine different games so that we can all have a little bit of an extra challenge. For example, Shane and Dylan decided that while Apples To Apples and Whoonu were okay by themselves, combining them made for a whole new world of fun.
He makes videos every day and posts them on Instagram, and it’s a sheer delight watching what he’s created, and seeing how his mind works. The videos are almost all short videos that poke fun at some societal norm, or some common term that, in spite of being common, make no literal sense at all.
I know Shane still has issues – as every human does – and that he’s still tackling what he needs to tackle. In fact, he spends more time with his youth minister online than he ever did in person – and he’s exploring some pretty deep, philosophical subjects.
It seemed like Shane was happier without school, so I asked him: “Are you happier now than you were when you had school?”
And he said, “The situation is worse now.”
“Well, that’s true,” I said. “But you seem happier now that you’re not in school every day.”
“I’m about the same,” he said, correcting me. “I miss socializing.” This made me sad – and he must have anticipated that, because he quickly added, “But I’m okay.”
If nothing else, he’s certainly exploring new things. And that, alone, has to be a good thing.
One of the things I have learned as a parent is how to follow my gut. So it surprised me when I recently got suddenly stupid.
Lately I’ve been concerned about my dog’s fur. Loki is a doodle with curly hair. Every day, I comb him with a strong, steel comb – the weapon of doodle owners everywhere – so that I can keep him tangle-free. His head, ears and entire body are gorgeous, soft, white curls.
Like many businesses now, our regular groomer is closed. So I bought special scissors to cut out Loki’s unwanted mats. I stayed diligent – but Loki’s legs got matted in spite of me.
I finally broke down and found a groomer on Craigslist to take care of Loki’s legs.
Kelley Carpenter said she was great with anxious dogs, and would be happy to help. She sent me pictures of cute dogs who went from long hair to short hair. She seemed to have experience with dog grooming.
But something about our conversation bothered me – nothing specific; it was just a feeling.
For two days, I had that nagging sensation. My gut whispered that I shouldn’t go through with my grooming appointment. So that morning, I looked up Kelley Carpenter online.
Immediately I found a story of a pit bull that attacked a boy in Michigan. The owner of the dog went to jail and got a hefty fine.
That’s so sad! I thought. And: Maybe it wasn’t her fault.
I also found was a listing for “Happy Canines” dog walking service – with the “groomer’s” name and phone number.
I don’t know why I kept pushing forward.
When I arrived, Kelley Carpenter seemed more anxious than me. That should have been my final clue.
Two hours later, I got my doodle back – only he didn’t have those gorgeous curls anymore. Kelley Carpenter shaved him completely bald.
Loki had no fur. His skin was cold, brown and pink, and his tail and ears were the only thing left with with any tufts at all.
My dog looks like a naked mole rat.
AFTER
The worst thing about getting something from Craigslist is that if it goes badly, there is no way to complain. I can’t review Kelley Carpenter anywhere. I can’t report her to the Better Business Bureau.
So I texted her and complained.
She retorted that Loki was the problem. “He was an unmedicated, aggressive, matted dog” – so she had no choice but to mutilate him.
Unmedicated. Kelley Carpenter preferred that I drug my dog so that he could be “properly” groomed…?
Obviously my complaints fell on deaf ears.
I considered walking up and down her block, every day for months, parading my nude dog in front of her house so that potential customers would see what kind of grooming she does.
But why would I want to waste all that time being angry?
So there’s very little I can do. But…
I can list her phone number for all the world to see: Kelley Carpenter, 301-503-2377. If anyone googles the number or her name, this post should appear. (Kelley lives in Maryland; not to be confused with Kelly Carpenter, a fine groomer in New Jersey.)
And I can connect her email to this post, so people know that she turns dogs into mole rats. No dog – or human – deserves this kind of treatment.
So today – this is what I’m doing with my blog. I’m pleading with the world to stay away from this horrible dog groomer.
And personally, I will follow my gut the next time it speaks.
Shane had a little bit of trouble in math this year. I may have mentioned this earlier.
In fact, just before the schools closed, thanks to my pestering via email, Shane’s principal had said that she would be monitoring the classroom closely to make sure everything was above board.
Now though, I am able to monitor “the classroom” every time Shane participates in math. And this is not a good teacher.
The first “meeting” Shane had for math took place on Zoom – like most classes nowadays. In math only, though, the teacher completely lost control of the classroom and the students took over – quite literally – until the teacher eventually got frustrated and “hung up,” leaving the class alone to goof off at will.
So the math teacher has learned to simply post videos of math, and the students watch it when they want to learn. For Shane, this is once a week – and I can watch, too, if I want.
But it’s so boring. Even the most interesting subject matter is taught by a teacher whose apathy is evident even in the videos. The class is entirely taught by monotone mumbling.
There’s not only no enthusiasm for the subject matter, but the teacher simply isn’t clear about what he’s supposedly teaching. He just does the problems and the students are expected to figure out the “why” and the “how” by imitating the way the teacher does the problems.
It’s the equivalent of me teaching writing by sitting in front of the class and writing a story, pointing out the words I use as I go. There’s no actual teaching.
Dylan – who also had this teacher when he was in high school – told Shane, “You just have to teach yourself. That’s all anyone can do.”
And there isn’t one thing anyone can do to change the teacher. Surely the principal could hop online and watch the videos – but why? Why would anyone put themselves through this, unless it’s required by law?
And of course, the teacher – like most teachers – has tenure. He can’t be fired except for cause. Being a terrible teacher means nothing.
Shane has a backup teacher, if he needs her, who can actually teach the material in a way that makes sense. Better yet, she allows Shane the opportunity to actually enjoy learning math.
At least – thankfully – Shane only has to watch the weekly video and do the assignments. He’s been keeping up and doing all right – and I am almost grateful for the mercy of schools being closed, so he never has to sit in this guy’s classroom again.
Almost grateful.
Because Shane is also missing his final quarter of Creative Writing, which is the best class in the world for Shane, taught by our county’s Teacher of the Year – literally – who is possibly the best teacher I’ve ever seen, hands down, anywhere and anytime in my lifetime.
While I complain about math, I try not to mention Creative Writing. The overwhelming sadness I feel for Shane missing that class is too much to bear.
When Dylan came home from college for spring break – more than two months ago now – he was struggling in two of his classes. He had a C and a D, mostly because some of his homework was missing.
In college (as I warned him in middle school), you aren’t allowed to turn in your homework late.
So Dylan was really struggling. He’d had a rough time at the beginning of the semester, readjusting to the workload and finally realizing that college is both fun and school.
Then he came home, the pandemic struck, he had two weeks off of school, and Dylan was given a new lease on life. When they restarted classes online, he was ready to go – and his professors were being exceptionally kind. Plus, Dylan had the option of taking up to seven credits “Pass/Fail” – meaning, he could pass with a D.
Better yet, he could choose whether or not to take a class “Pass/Fail” after seeing his final grades.
Oddly, this did not have the effect on Dylan that it would have had on me. If it had been me, in college, I would have done the bare minimum in my classes. I would have continued to struggle with the classes I’d already bombed, and then I would have done only what it would have taken to get by. I would have taken two classes Pass/Fail – the maximum allowed – because I would have ended the semester with a D in at least two classes.
Dylan, however, went the opposite direction. With the “Pass/Fail” option available, he decided he had nothing to lose by doing his best work. He still procrastinated, but he didn’t miss any more deadlines. He kept up with his reading; he did his homework assignments on time.
When exam time rolled around, he prepared and studied. In his biggest project for his most challenging classes, Dylan ended up being “in charge” of his group – and doing an absolutely spectacular job on the project. And he did some other projects with just as much enthusiasm as he has for making music.
In other words, he stepped up.
His grades came out last week. He got a couple of A’s and a B. He got a B- in one class, where he’d originally had a C. And in his most challenging class, he brought up his D all the way to a B+!
Dylan’s grades in both semesters of his freshman year are better than his grades in any of his high school semesters, except possibly during his senior year when he dropped half his classes and just took English, math and AP Psychology.
Dylan is thriving in college – socially, emotionally, and even academically. It boggles my mind. Part of me can hardly believe it.
The other part of me knew all along that he could do it, if only he would apply himself.
That “other” part of me is still stunned – but in a good way.
Dylan – who couldn’t be trusted to finish his homework for nine years in a row – is disciplining himself and finally doing what it takes to succeed.
