Brilliant … But Bouncy

I Was Angry With My Parents.

Shane is now a full-fledged teenager. He grunts at me instead of talking. This is different than his social qualms. It’s just with me.When I ask him a direct question, the answer is often “mmm” or “urg.” And when I don’t ask a question, I don’t even get a grunt.

I told him that trying to have a conversation with him felt – to me – like I was asking him to rip off one of his legs and hand it to me. He’s not always – but often – that uncommunicative.

It feels as though Shane is angry with his parents.

Back in the day, when I was a teenager, I was angry with my parents. In fact, I dragged out my adolescence and corresponding anger for about ten years. From my perspective, my parents hadn’t done anything right from the time I was about 10 until I was almost 30.

I want to make one thing perfectly clear: I was not a deprived child. I had a roof over my head every night. In spite of what my parents tell me now, I do not recall being poor and I definitely never went hungry.

When high school rolled around, I had everything I wanted or needed, including the ever-popular Jordache jeans with a tiger-style comb sticking out of the back pocket. I even had platform shoes.

My parents – those non-Jordache-wearing, non-comb-sporting old people (in their 30’s) – well, they were losers. They didn’t know anything about anything. And I most certainly knew everything.

At the time, I just wanted to get away from my parents. And I wanted to be away from them ALL. THE. TIME.

My parents loved me. They adored me, in fact, for no apparent reason. Even during those awful years, while I was pulling away with all of my might to become independent, if anyone had asked me I probably would have acknowledged it: “Yes,” I would have said, “I know they love me. But what does that have to do with anything?”

Later in life – much, much later – a friend was talking about her childhood using terms I didn’t recognize. She said words like “unsafe” and “fear.” At the time, I didn’t comprehend there were real families that were unstable. I didn’t know there were kids who were scared, even at home.

I never had that feeling.

So – much, much later – I realized that I’d had the two most important things in life: security and love. And I suddenly noticed that my parents weren’t nearly the idiots I thought they were.

But it took me a long time to notice.

When Bill and I started a family, our plan was to offer security and love. We were not perfect by any stretch, and there was far more yelling in my own house than there had been when I was growing up. But it was honest yelling, and while we may (still) disagree too loudly, we also have kept the communication lines open.

Except for Shane, who never yelled. And now, he says very little. On a good day, he’ll forget and he’ll chat about stuff and it will be just like it was back in the day – about a year ago. We’ll talk like we’re friends.

And then the grunting will start again, and my feelings will be hurt again.

Someday, though, maybe ten years from now, Shane will look back on his childhood and realize that we aren’t complete idiots and that we, too, provided him with security and love.

I just hope he gets there sooner than I did.

I Really Don’t Want To Get Up.

One morning, while it was still dark outside – like it is every morning before high school in the winter – Shane got up before his alarm went off.

Ugh, he thought, I really don’t want to get up yet. But he got up anyway.

He dragged himself down the hall and into the bathroom. As he does every day, he showered and washed his hair. He got dry. Then he went back down the hall to his bedroom.

When he arrived, his digital clock read 1:00 a.m.

Upon hearing this story, I assumed Shane’s clock was malfunctioning. “Oh no!” I exclaimed. “Did the electricity go out?”

“No,” he said. “It really was 1:00 in the morning. I just woke up before my alarm and went and got a shower.”

“You mean you got out of bed in the middle of the night, got a whole shower and washed your hair, and then found out it was the middle of the night?”

“Yeah,” he said. “I don’t know why I thought it was time to get up. I remember walking down the hall and everything, but I don’t remember getting out of bed.”

Shane has a propensity toward sleepwalking, I think. In fact, this may have been our first example.

One night when Shane and I were in California, Shane had only been asleep for a few minutes when I accidentally bumped something and the noise woke him up. Shane rolled over, looked me straight in the eye, and said, “4-3-3-8-9. I’m pretty sure that’s the number. 4-3-3-8-9. Okay? I’m pretty sure.”

Then he went back to sleep.

I texted the number to his phone. I didn’t have the slightest idea what he was talking about, but I wasn’t going to forget it!

In the morning, Shane had no idea why I had texted him a number. He had no recollection of the conversation but he’d appeared wide awake.

“I don’t know why I would pick that number,” he said. “Part of the first 100 digits of pi is 4-3-3-8, but the 9 is wrong.” (In his spare time, Shane has been memorizing the first 100 digits of pi. Apparently he’s even doing it when he’s unconscious.)

I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that Shane is holding conversations in his sleep and showering in the middle of the night. I still remember one very special night when Shane was a toddler.

Every night, I would tiptoe into my boys’ rooms and kiss each of them on the head. Then I’d whisper – as quietly as I could – “I love you.” And I’d tiptoe back out. Sometimes a boy would roll or move a little after the kiss, but mostly they stayed still.

But one evening during my routine, just as I kissed baby Shane on the head, his eyes popped open.

He was staring right at me; neither of us moved.

Then he smiled his huge, baby grin and said, “I yuv you!” And he rolled over and went back to sleep.

It was the first time my baby ever told me he loved me. And he was probably asleep when he said it.

I Got Him Some Acetaminophen.

Dylan got sick.

At college.

He texted me. He needed a mom. He needed permission to stay home from school and rest. He needed a stupid TV (for the first time since he’s been there) to allow him time to rest. He needed to rest his brain and his body and sleep, sleep, sleep.

So we texted back and forth, him feeling awful and me reassuring him that he could miss a couple of classes.

I sent him to the health clinic on campus, thinking they could – at least – make sure he didn’t have an infection or something requiring antibiotics. He crawled out of bed and dragged himself across campus.

They tested him and said he had no flu and a fever of 99 degrees. Dylan’s pediatrician doesn’t even consider 99 a fever. In fact, his body temperature runs a little high so I’m not sure he had a fever at all.

But then, the next day, he was worse. He could barely lift his head. He texted me (i feel insanely feverish and weak and i’m shivering like crazy) and sent a link to the song “Agony,” from a musical he saw on a school field trip years ago.

Dylan was really, really sick.

I decided to take drastic action: I sent him some acetaminophen.

I found a lovely new service called “Instacart,” where you can “instantly” have your “cart” delivered from the store to your residence. (I’ve included the link so that if you want to discover it, too, you can get $10 off your order. I don’t normally do this on my blog but it’s actually that awesome.)

I sent Dylan fresh, organic strawberries – his favorite food. I sent him yogurt – easy to swallow – and chicken noodle soup in a microwavable cup. I sent him Gatorade in his favorite flavors and gummy vitamins loaded with Vitamin C and D. And, finally, I sent him the acetaminophen caplets – something I never would have given him at home unless it was a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.

When everything arrived, his roommate kindly went down – and back up – four flights of stairs to deliver everything to Dylan’s bed. My Instacart order arrived in less than 90 minutes.

Dylan texted me: thank you for getting all this i really don’t know what to do with all of it but i’m already drinking the gatorade

and later: i just only ate an applesauce and half a yogurt

Then, finally, Dylan took an acetaminophen caplet. Since he rarely takes any kind of medication, he only took one – then he texted me again: the medicine is helping i can tell. still don’t feel good but i don’t feel like i’d rather die than be awake anymore. i’m eating some chicken noodle soup.

Dylan was feeling better.

He was no longer writhing in agony in his dorm bed. He could rest comfortably, not worry about getting to the cafeteria, have plenty to drink to keep him hydrated – and take another acetaminophen caplet if he needed one.

Instacart was a wonderful find – so wonderful, in fact, that – two days later – I ordered $117 worth of crap from Costco and had it delivered to my own house, even though I was perfectly capable of going to the store myself.

That’s when I knew I would have to use it sparingly.

The next day, I got the best text ever: thank you so much for taking care of me i know i’ve already said that but seriously you helped me so much

That’s my job, Son. (And that text is what makes my job the best one in the world.)

Colleges Can’t Compete With “Real” Film.

Even though I didn’t want to do it, because I really want Shane to stay on this side of the country for college, I took Shane to visit film schools in California.

On our agenda: 10 colleges and two amusement parks in 4.5 days. And I really believed we’d see them all!

We had two tours scheduled on our first day, and we went to both. It was astounding how similar college tours sound, once you’ve been on a few of them. They all have the most spirited students as tour guides, and sometimes they use the same statistics as marketing points.

In southern California, a key marketing point: Because of the close proximity to both mountains and an ocean, you can go skiing and surfing in the same day.

Of course, Shane should be studying, not skiing and surfing – but it sure was enticing!

At Shane’s favorite college, too, he can watch fireworks from Disneyland every, single night.

After our good work on the first day, we took a day off to visit Universal Studios Hollywood. This was technically related because we went on the “studio tour” ride and drove through a real working studio – which was, ultimately, the coolest thing in the world.

After Universal, we were going to visit two schools in Pasadena, but Shane decided against them. One had a (truly) very dull way to teach film, and the other was 100% commuters. So we skipped those.

We toured three colleges the next day – two huge schools and one smaller – but our favorite stop was the Brady Bunch house, which is in a residential neighborhood. Colleges can’t compete with “real” film.

Then, Shane got sick – literally. He had a fever, so we revamped our plans and canceled one amusement park and two more college visits. He must not have been meant to go to those colleges.

By Monday morning, the day we were leaving, we were down to one more tour and a trip to the airport. The tour was nice – gorgeous views, gorgeous weather, blah blah blah – and Shane put that college on his “maybe” list, along with one other “maybe” and one “yes-I’m-applying” college.

And then we hung out by the Pacific Ocean for lunch, really seeing the west coast for the first time. It was spectacular.

We may not have accomplished as much as we set out to accomplish, but we did put some realism into Shane’s vision of California.

And mine – since I’d never seen Los Angeles, either.

It’s very nice. The weather alone is enough reason to go there – if you like 70 and sunny every day.

And it was great to see the colleges in person, and get an idea of what west coast campuses look like – what they feel like, really. Fortunately, they feel a lot like east coast campuses.

Shane’s most telling comment happened after our first tour, at his favorite school. He said, ” I don’t know if it’s this college I like, or just California.”

And he had a point. It’s hard to pull the campus out of the bright, warm weather in January.

But I hope he can. I hope he distinguishes between his “passion” for film – which is not terribly evident – and his “passion” for being in a sunny, warm environment – and someplace new.

Because I really want him to stay on this side of the world.

My recourse: I’m planning the most adventurous college tour extravaganza ever. Spring break is coming!

He will see what this side of the world has to offer.

And if it doesn’t offer more than southern California? I can always move out west.

I’m Actually Really Good At It.

Shane is interested in pursuing film as a career. He would like to act, but he thinks a more realistic pursuit is film or sound editing.

“Other careers are just boring,” he said.

I explained to him that he doesn’t know all the other careers, and that he may enjoy some of the careers he hasn’t yet experienced.

“If you don’t know how to do something yet,” I said, “it’s hard to say that you wouldn’t like it.”

“That’s like math,” he said.

What? I thought. What could that possibly have to do with math?

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Well, when I don’t know what I’m doing, math seems really hard. But as soon as I understand it, it’s really easy and I could do it all day.”

MATH?!? I thought. He LIKES math???

“Really?” I said.

“Yeah,” Shane said. “I’m actually really good at it. And it’s fun as long as I know what I’m doing.”

He likes math. Shane is in Honors level classes, and even an AP class – except in math. Because he struggled so much in Algebra I – and despised it – I told him to take non-Honors-level Algebra II, so he’s been taking on-level math classes since he started high school.

“So maybe you’ll really like some forms of math,” I said. “Remember how you liked Geometry?”

“It wasn’t my favorite,” he said.

“Well, you were good at it, even though it was an Honors class. And I have a feeling you’ll like next year’s class, too.” Next year, Shane is taking Intro to Statistics, to prepare for the AP Statistics class in 12th grade. It seems like it might be his kind of thing.

“Maybe,” he said.

“You might like some college-level math classes, too – like accounting,” I said. “You might love accounting. It’s a completely different kind of math. I think you will find a whole bunch of other things in college that interest you.”

I wish I could have told him more about accounting. Unfortunately, I know nothing about it.

But I started thinking about how little I know about how Shane’s mind actually works. He likes MATH and I’ve been holding him back from tackling the higher level stuff. He’s taking a slower paced class because – well, because algebra is not fun. It’s been documented a billion times over that algebra has little purpose in the real world – yet it’s taught in schools like Latin, as if anyone would really need to know that stuff.

Meanwhile, accounting is an “elective” that doesn’t get any credit as genuine math. It’s a “business” class. And don’t we need people who can understand business? Don’t we need people in the world who have an interest in new and varied types of numerical equations?

When Shane was young, he had more interest in the numbers on the pages of books than he did in the books themselves. I always blamed his vision processing for his attraction to numbers – but at this point, who cares why he likes numbers? Maybe he can enjoy numbers in college! Maybe he would like something other than film editing!

Of course, that didn’t stop me from taking him to California to visit film schools – but it did give me some insight into how to proceed with his college explorations.

Can’t You Say Something?!?

I was driving Shane to school – one of the few times I get to actually talk to him, since he hides out so often nowadays – and I started telling him a story.

I can’t remember what the story was about; it’s irrelevant. It was a story that I thought would be interesting to Shane. I started talking a minute or two after we left the house.

I continued talking as we turned onto the main street, and as we drove through the first light. I talked all the way through the three-minute stoplight break. I talked for another few blocks, when we turned into a residential neighborhood, and then I talked for another five minutes as we drove through the neighborhood.

Shane never spoke. He never said, “oh wow” or “that’s interesting” or “I wish you would shut up.” He never said, “why did that happen?” or “something like that happened to me once” or “don’t you hate it when that happens?” He didn’t utter a single word.

Since ten minutes had passed, and I had been waiting for him to chime in on the conversation, I just blew up.

“Can’t you say something?!?” I screeched. “I have been talking the entire way to school and you are just sitting there! You seem to be listening but you haven’t said anything that makes me think this is a conversation! I feel like I’m talking to a brick! Don’t you have one single word to say?”

“Not really,” he said.

“But don’t you think you should say something, since I have been talking non-stop for ten minutes? Like maybe so I would know you are listening? Like maybe something that would show some interest in the conversation that I thought we were having?”

“I didn’t want to interrupt,” he said. Shane seemed a little hurt, as if I’d smacked him in the face for sitting still.

I know there’s a difference between females and males, and that males tend to think first, then talk. I know that females tend to talk while they think. I saw it on the Discovery Channel video I bought. But this is beyond that.

And I also know that I shouldn’t blather on for ten minutes and then explode with no warning. I had to apologize for that.

But still… I felt like Shane should have said something. Anything. Something that would imply that he heard me, that he was there.

Shane has never quite gotten the art of conversation. On the telephone, he’ll say, “Okay bye,” and hang up after he gets whatever information he needs. And in person, he’s much the same way. It makes me wonder if he ever speaks when not spoken to.

So now I am on a quest: discover how to help Shane converse.

And also: stop yelling at him for saying nothing.