Brilliant … But Bouncy

You Just Have To Teach Yourself.

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.

He Stepped Up.

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.

It thrills me beyond my wildest dreams.

Thank You, God.

July 29, 2010

Dearest Shane,

Tonight when you were praying, you said, “Thank you, God, for all the beautyness, and for yourself.  Amen.”  It’s my favorite prayer ever.

Love,

Mom

You Are Excellent At Math.

Today’s letter came from a time before we even knew that Dylan had ADHD, before we realized exactly how gifted he is, and long before Dylan realized that he would be an asset to any team.

August 18, 2010

Dearest Dylan,

Months after the incident, you told me about a time when, in 3^rd grade, your class was playing a math game and you were chosen second-to-last for “teams.”  You were broken-hearted because Jared was picked first and you said he was the smartest boy in the school.  So, since you were picked second-to-last, you assumed you must be second-to-dumbest in math.

I thought back on the days when I would go out to play kickball with my class, and we would choose teams.  I was always picked last.  I just stood there, waiting for someone to call my name, but no one ever did. Eventually the teacher would just point to where I should go.

I was an excellent kickball player.  I am still an excellent kickball player.  But when I didn’t get picked, I thought, “I must not be very good.”

Now, thinking about you and math, I remember that you read at an 8^th grade level when you were in 3^rd grade, and you scored even higher in math than you did in reading.  In other words, you are excellent at math.

Yet some kid made you feel like you weren’t good.  Some kid who obviously has no idea that you are spectacular, inside and out, and that you would be an awesome addition to any team – math or otherwise.

You spend a lot of time “spacing out” in school because it bores you.  Maybe you are staring out the window and thinking about how a jet plane works or planning the design of the world’s greatest roller coaster in your head.  Maybe you are solving the problem of world hunger, one village at a time.  Who knows?  But you are still great at math.

Maybe they just don’t know you well enough yet.

I am sorry you didn’t get picked first, or even second, for the math team.  But I wouldn’t change one thing about you – not one single thing – even if I could.  God made you this way for a reason, and you are perfect just exactly as you are.  Remember that, please.

Love, Mom

Make Your Own Shadows.

Since I am stuck inside anyway, I started deleting old files on my computer, to increase storage capacity and perhaps give my computer a few more years of activity.

That’s how I found the letters that I will be posting this week. They are old, but they are relevant. And it helps me to remember my children, the way they are on the inside.

I wrote these letters with the intent that the kids could look back on themselves and see what they were really like when they were younger.

This one was written just after Dylan was accepted into the GT program, when he was in fourth grade. This meant Dylan would be going to a different school, leaving Shane in first grade at his home school.

So the first letter is to Shane.

August 18, 2010

Dearest Shane,

When Dylan was picked to go to another school, we were all very proud of him, but we were thinking of you, as well.  You are the newest and only representative of the family at your school now.  So I sat you down, and explained that this duty comes with a price.

“No one will be saying, ‘There goes Dylan’s little brother’ anymore,” I told you.  “Now they will say, ‘There goes Shane.’”

Your back straightened up, your eyes lit up, and I thought the pride was going to burst right out of you.  Yes, finally, you are getting your chance.  You get to be a whole you, the person you were meant to be, and make your own shadows instead of standing in someone else’s!  It is a glorious thing.

And you are going to go so far, my love.  You are strong and independent and can tackle whatever comes your way, all by yourself.  But when you come home, of course, we will still be there for you – in whatever way you need – and love you more than ever.

Love,

Mom

I Am Writing.

I don’t feel like writing. I don’t feel like posting. I don’t feel like sharing anything – good or bad – about my life.

What I want to do now, every day, is just stay in bed and watch TV. This tells me two things: (1) that I am depressed, and (2) that I need to get up and do things.

So today, I am writing. Here I am, writing.

That’s all for right now.

But…

Back in January, Shane and I were on a college road trip in California.

Our first college visit was in Orange: Chapman University. We strolled around for several hours there, then stopped for lunch, and headed on to our next college.

Two days later, California announced a coronavirus case – one of, if not the first – in Orange, California.

I know what day it was, because we were watching TV in the hotel all day, so we saw the news.

We were watching TV in the hotel all day because … Shane had a fever. He felt achy all over and declined to go to Six Flags. The fever was short-lived, and he ended up not having a lot of energy the next day, but he was fine to travel back home.

It’s not likely that Shane contracted coronavirus that long ago, right? And without the cough, it’s unlikely that he had it – but who knows?

But…

Two weeks later, Dylan was sick. He had a fever for at least three days. In fact, the entire campus was sick. He dragged himself to the health center, where they determined that he did not have the flu – but they didn’t tell him what he did have.

He developed a cough a couple of days later – a bad one. Even with his reactive airways disease, it seemed unusual. It was a low, deep, angry cough.

More than three weeks later, he was still coughing. Nobody bothered testing him for coronavirus because, of course, coronavirus headlines were still a few weeks away. No one in Tennessee suspected anything more than a very contagious flu-like virus spreading through campus.

All of the backtracking in the news lately has got me wondering: did both of my kids have it already?

Part of me thinks, yes! I think they did! And then I feel happy, because they both lived.

Another part of me thinks, probably not. Wouldn’t we have known? And then I feel concerned again.

And probably the most rational part of me thinks: Dylan probably had it. Shane probably did not. But who knows?

I am going to try feeling happy today. After all, regardless of what they had then, they are not sick today.

As always, and especially lately, that’s the important thing.

Shane is Growing Up.

Spending 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, with Shane is helping me to see things that I hadn’t noticed before. The most important of these things is that Shane is growing up.

While we are purposefully having family time, Shane is choosing to be independent most of the time. He’s doing his school work on time – in spite of my consistently asking about it, which is just an old habit from Dylan’s high school days. Shane is learning new material, getting everything done, and checking in with teachers if he needs help. So I don’t have to wonder if it’s getting done.

Shane’s also doing the typical teen things: hanging out on his phone, watching YouTube, watching TV, playing video games. And while I wish Shane was connecting more with people, even online, right now isn’t really the time to push that agenda.

Because Shane is also doing Shane things: playing drums again, making Instagram videos, lifting weights, climbing trees, and challenging himself to get better at whatever he’s decided to learn. He’s chatting regularly with his youth minister, exploring his spiritual side. Emotionally, he’s handling the OCD like a champ: in spite of the pandemic, he’s incredibly balanced and calm.

And physically, he’s on fire. A couple of days ago, I asked him to hang up my new hummingbird bench – made by a friend – in our tree, and he did. Then he did a handful of pull-ups on the bottom branch.

Shane is very athletic, and loves net sports in particular. But I’ve never seen him so interested in fitness before. Or at least, I’ve never noticed. Yesterday he said something about his “cardio workout” and I nearly fell out of my chair.

This is, of course, wonderful news. Shane used to turn to me when he felt low; now he’s taking care of himself more like an adult. He’s not completely absent, and he’s never rude. But he gets things done for himself in a way that I have never really noticed.

I wonder if, because of our unique situation, I was just too busy to notice before – or if Shane decided to take this time to do things he’d always wanted to do, but never had.

Either way, it is a sheer joy to watch. I miss him; I miss my baby. He’s always going to be my baby, and I’ll probably always see that toddler in him.

But I’m so happy for my “baby” to be a mature young man now. And even if it took a pandemic, I’m thrilled that he’s being himself, taking charge of his life, and becoming more confident in himself. I’ve always known he was strong and smart and funny and interesting.

Now, it seems, he’s finding out those things about himself, too.

We Talked About Forgiveness.

An added benefit of having Dylan home during this disaster is that, sometimes, I learn a ridiculous amount about myself.

Last night, I tried to explain to him why some people can be so bothersome, even hurtful. I explained my theories about why beautiful, innocent babies occasionally grow up to be spiteful and manipulative adults, due to poor parenting, dysfunction, tragedy and trauma.

“You want so badly for everyone to see you for the good, kind, decent person you are,” I said, hugging him, absorbing that truth. “But no matter what you do, some people just can’t see it.”

Then we talked about forgiveness.

After Dylan left, I started thinking about the people I still haven’t forgiven. One is Bonnie, who completely upended my world by “unfriending” me on Facebook after – I thought – 30 years of close friendship. The other is Mindy, who was never a friend and bullied me from 4th through 7th grade. Both nearly killed me with their heartlessness.

To myself I reiterated: “You want so badly for everyone to see you for the good, kind, decent person you are.”

I thought about that for a long time.

A lot of people don’t like me. I am definitely not mainstream. I can be too liberal and too pessimistic, and I often share unnecessary wisdom when trying to “help” people. I am learning that most people don’t want me to help. And often I’m too open about my innermost feelings with people who aren’t ready to share.

But I want so badly for everyone to see me for the good, kind, decent person I am.

Two people will never see me that way. Mindy – who bullied me relentlessly – decided she hated me without ever speaking to me. And Bonnie – my dearest friend, or so I thought – never cared about the “real” me, possibly because she’s a narcissist. But all I ever wanted was their approval.

Why would I put myself through years of agonizing over how I might change their perceptions – even though I know enough to tell Dylan that some people can’t be changed?

Partially, I think, it’s about control. I want to control the way others see me, and I only want people to see the good in me. I don’t take criticism well, and I am the first one to dish it out. (This isn’t really a positive character trait, and could easily affect people’s perception of me.)

But when someone flat out says, I don’t like you, my gut reaction is: WAIT! I’m a really good person! I’ll try harder to prove it to you!

And then I keep myself up nights, worrying about people who don’t even care that I exist.

So last night, I chunked the bully and the narcissist together for the first time. I thought: how can I forgive them – both of them – these people who live in my head, but not in my life?

An answer came immediately, something I learned long ago: acceptance is the answer to all of my problems.

Accepting what they did doesn’t mean I have to agree with it; I don’t. But accepting that they did it – that this happened to me – and that I have no control over any of it: that is something I can do.

Then, like I told Dylan, I can accept that they are just broken. They can’t see who I am, because they aren’t capable.

It’s just the way it is.

And that tiny realization has made it possible for me to sleep peacefully, without regret or anger, for the rest of my life.