This weekend, both boys were in the school musical. They did a wonderful job, and I have a lot to say about it.
But I am exhausted. I realize I haven’t been writing blogs as often as I should, but my willingness to write about my revelations is overshadowed by my unwillingness to cry.
This was their only play together. This was Dylan’s last play, ever, and probably his last performance on a high school stage.
So I am not in any position to write about it without crying. So I’m not going to write about it today.
After all the prior visits, Dylan has now been to two colleges overnight. He’s got one more on the horizon.
Dylan is taking into consideration his best fit – financially, emotionally and for his future. He’s been pretty gung-ho on one college the whole time, but the finances have thrown him for a loop. So, overnights are important.
What’s interesting to me is how close he’s coming to the national deadline without making a decision. He needs to announce his decision by May 1. But he’s still considering all of his options.
Dylan is even considering a gap year – still, even though he’s already dropped out of one amazing opportunity. He’s applied for a couple more amazing opportunities, and has even considered living at home and working for a year to save some money.
His time and energy, however, are still spent on his phone, chatting with friends, and wondering if he should go to this concert or that concert. Yesterday he announced a spectacular, totally amazing deal: three concerts for only $60! It didn’t matter to Dylan that the concerts were taking place more than an hour from home, or that they were happening during the summer when he has no idea where he’ll be living or what he’ll be doing.
Last summer, I gave him a timeline. The deadline for deciding on whether or not to take a gap year was January (three months ago). And the deadline for deciding on college was last week – although I expected that decision to be made sooner, as well.
But my timelines are irrelevant. Dylan is not a fan of deadlines. This is likely to be his lifelong challenge.
Shane wrote a paper for school. The assignment was to write in the style of a specific author – I don’t remember which one – and describe a day in Shane’s own life using that author’s style.
I thought it would be interesting to see what he wrote, so I asked if I could read it.
“Sure,” he said. “Some of it’s fiction, but it’s about the day I got stung by all the jellyfish.”
Poor Shane. Those jellyfish seemed to go straight for him.
Shane wrote about a day at the beach – a vacation I’d planned for months, something we’d done for the first time in years just this past summer. We used to go annually with my entire extended family, and the kids loved it. This year, it was just the four of us. So I was excited to see what he remembered, after all the fun he’d had – except, of course, for the jellyfish.
This is what I read:
“We all decided to go to the beach. We enjoyed it quite a lot at first. True, it didn’t provide us, at least me, with the splendid and magical feeling of vacationing with the whole family, staying up late, doing whatever I wanted to do. What it did provide, however, was a fine example of how life has changed since my younger years. My family had trouble going one minute without fighting with each other. Why must they fight? What happened to the good old days? It doesn’t matter.”
My heart sank. We had argued a lot for about two days of our eight-day vacation. Shane didn’t argue; mostly he just watched, as always. While Dylan and I bickered, and Bill and I tussled back and forth, Shane sat quietly, absorbing everything, just like he does at home.
Only this time, it happened in a condo next to the ocean on a gorgeous, sunny, summer day. It happened during our last-ever beach vacation as a full family of four. With Dylan leaving home soon, vacations will never be the same, so I’d planned as many wonderful trips as I could.
And then I ruined them.
Shane will be the first to say that the story he wrote, the description of his day, was just fiction. He wouldn’t want to hurt my feelings, because he doesn’t like to complain. And he never mentions the yelling. Ever.
Sadly, it’s probably because he’s so accustomed to it.
I can’t fix the problem now. My frustration spilling over into the beauty will forever be etched into his mind as “the way it was.”
And it’s my fault.
Recently, I found a doctor. I changed my diet. In fact, what I eat – which was previously garbage – added so much angst, exhaustion and sickness to my life. I’m on a road to a healthy life that has changed my entire outlook. The yelling has, as a direct result, subsided a great deal. I’m not perfect, but I’ve become more accepting and easygoing. I just don’t yell as much now.
But I found that doctor in September, after summer vacations were all over and etched in my children’s minds forever. I found that doctor when my kids were teenagers and couldn’t wait to get out of the house. I found that doctor after their childhoods were scarred with screaming.
I changed my life too late to save my own children.
Dylan is off to another overnight this weekend, along with a job fair that could provide him with a summer job OR a gap-year opportunity.
He hasn’t decided yet which.
Dylan hasn’t decided which college he wants to go to, or if he wants to take a gap year. He hasn’t decided where he will work this summer, if he is working this summer. He hasn’t decided what he’s going to do with his future and, for that matter, he hasn’t decided anything at all.
What he wants to do is hang out at the beach, live for free, and make tons of money to pay for college.
What he doesn’t realize is: his indecision is what’s costing him.
I thought my worries would be over once Dylan was accepted into college. But now I see that my worries are never going to end. They have now transferred to this train of thought:
If Dylan doesn’t decide soon, he’s going to end up with nothing. He won’t have a job this summer and he won’t have a job for his gap year, but he’ll end up taking a gap year because he didn’t commit to any college. Then if he goes to college, he has to get an internship. He doesn’t do anything early. He needs to do things early. He needs to apply for internships the day they come out. How is he going to do that if the deadline is three months later? He will do it at the last minute, and he will not get the internship. Then he will not get the job. He will not get any job. He will not get a job this summer and he’ll move back into my house after college and he will never, ever leave because he won’t have a job. I will end up on Dr. Phil begging to know where I went wrong with this boy. And Dr. Phil will say I did too much for him, I’m still doing too much for him, he needs to do things for himself. And it will be my fault that Dylan doesn’t have a job he loves.
It’s not going to get easier as he gets older. I’m just going to have less control and Dylan is going to have more control and that thought scares me to death.
I am so busy, I can’t even think straight.
I have taken it upon myself to work until I can’t keep my eyes open at night. I’m teaching three students, substituting at every possible opportunity, running my kids around whenever they need me, and now I have a new dog to walk – who desperately needs to be walked a lot – at least twice daily.
In addition, I’m planning college road trips. Normally, I have these things planned six months in advance, complete with hotel reservations and lists of highly rated area restaurants. But today, I realized that I had only made one hotel reservation for a three-night trip – and we leave in a few days!
Sometimes at night, I don’t even have time to watch television, because I’m catching up on all the stuff I was supposed to do during the day. And in the midst of all this, I am still eating virtually nothing (for health reasons) and I’m getting ready to embark on softball season, when I will play three times a week.
This is probably how most of the world lives all the time. I’ve heard about it, and seen it on TV. Americans are way too stressed out for their own good.
But I have never done this to myself. Usually, I allow myself to take a day off here and there. Ever since Xena died, though, I feel like there’s no time for time off. If I don’t stay busy, I might crack.
So I am waaaaay too busy to write a blog today.
Dear Shane,
I was just thinking about when you came home from ping pong league.
You said, “I lost all the games tonight.”
And my response was: “Maybe you should quit.”
You didn’t think you should quit, though. In fact, quite the opposite – you thought you should work harder, take lessons, practice more, play more and do more to get better. You wanted to stop losing, sure, but mostly you wanted to improve your game. You wanted to do whatever you could to make the most out of your time with this sport.
You have a quality called persistence. You are willing to challenge yourself and do more, so that you can get better at something. When you are committed to something, you don’t just give up.
I don’t have that quality. Mostly, I always want to quit.
When I was in high school, I played two sports: tennis and softball. I hated to practice, and I didn’t have any friends on my team. I am not sure why I played exactly, but I am glad – now – that I did.
But back then? In softball I mostly sat on the bench. I don’t remember playing in any games. I’m sure I did, because my parents remember it. I don’t remember batting or catching any balls. I just remember standing in the outfield, kicking around the grass and thinking I’d rather be walking my dog.
And in tennis, we had to play other girls on our team to determine our “position.” Only the top girls got to play in the matches. To move up, I had to beat someone who was better than me. I spent a lot of time playing the same girl. I almost always did beat her, but my coach kept putting her in the matches instead of me, even when I won. And I never stood up for myself.
I always, always, always felt like I should quit. I never wanted to be there.
I didn’t think I should practice more or work harder. I never talked to the coach about the game, or asked what I could do to get better. I just sat around feeling sorry for myself, thinking about quitting.
I didn’t even try to play better, in either sport. I did not have persistence.
You, however, do have persistence. It’s one of your strongest, most wonderful characteristics. I have seen you go from B’s to A’s in classes, over and over again, because you have persistence. I have seen you complete things that are tremendously challenging – like indoor track – just because you committed to do it. And I’ve seen you tackle plays and musicals with real gusto, even though it takes a ton of work and an insane amount of time.
You don’t give up. In that way especially, you are not like me.
And I truly admire that quality in you. You inspire me to try harder, to do more, just by watching you do it. Thank you for that. And I am sorry for suggesting that you quit playing ping pong. Your way is much better.
Love,
Mom
Dear Powers That Be:
I sincerely appreciate your taking the time to research the situation with the Broadcast Media program. It was enlightening and helpful, and Shane and I did explore the suggested options. Unfortunately, he will not be able to pursue any form of video production studies during high school. Instead, I will be paying a few thousand dollars to get him involved in the filmmaking program at a local theater – which will be a huge inconvenience with regard to time and travel, and won’t come with the benefit of IB classes.
Both of my sons had a very real interest in Broadcast Media, and I learned about it at least five years ago. So for five years, Broadcast Media has been offered as an option. Dylan entered high school under the assumption that he was going to take IB classes and learn about video production. He was plopped into Journalism, which didn’t suit him, and he dropped out of the pathway. Three years later, Shane did the same thing; the only difference is that Shane is able to get through a year of Journalism because he doesn’t have issues with writing.
It is not a class he wanted to take, and it is not helping him with any requirements for graduation. Without a pathway, Video Production is a wasted elective credit.
It seems terrifically unfair to me that both kids were denied the opportunity to follow a pathway that is defined and presented as an option. It is listed along with all the other IBCP pathways; yet, it doesn’t exist.
My guess is that Dylan and Shane were not the only candidates for this program, and that other students have also been stuck into Journalism and been disappointed. And they are going to continue to do so, as long as Broadcast Media is an “option” during course registration.
The Broadcast Media classes aren’t listed anywhere other than in the IB section. In fact, they’re not even available on the student registration sheets. So the three students currently taking Video Production with Shane must have also been interested – at least somewhat – in the non-existent pathway.
I am not sure who determines what is offered and what isn’t, or who posts online the course options, but the Broadcast Media pathway is clearly NOT AN OPTION at our school.
And if this pathway isn’t actually offered, then the school needs to take some responsibility. The right thing to do here is either to REMOVE the program from the course offerings, or OFFER the actual pathway – complete with a teacher who will teach production classes the way they are designed to be taught. Maybe there’s a way to combine it with TV Production that would make more sense than combining it with Journalism. Or, perhaps, you can create an all-new Journalism pathway, which might be of interest to students.
One way or another, someone needs to change the course offerings. It has already broken enough hearts and wasted enough time. Please, fix the problem – if not for my kids, for all of the future students who shouldn’t have to go through what we did.
Dylan is planning three trips to colleges: one trip to see if nearly-free college is where he wants to be, one trip to see if college-of-his-dreams is where he wants to be, and one trip to see if the college that accepted him – which was his favorite back in 8th grade – is still a place he wants to be.
I love traveling to the colleges with him. I love seeing the places, even though we’ve been to some of them three or four times. I love the car ride with Dylan, singing along to whatever music he’s selected for me. I love that quality time together, even though sometimes we’re incredibly tired. I love Dylan finally being able to drive.
I love seeing the college kids roaming around like they’re on their own little planet. I love the smiling faces, the welcoming, warm administration. I love wandering through the buildings just to see what’s going on in there.
This time, I will love letting Dylan roam free on campus with his overnight host. I will love staying in the hotel, waiting to hear how it went, texting him goodnight (and making sure everything’s okay). I will even love it if/when he doesn’t text me back.
Dylan has two months left in high school, and I am still loving the adventure, the excitement, of choosing where he’s going to spend his next four years.
But I am not allowing myself to go beyond that. Because if he actually goes – if he actually leaves the nest and flies free – I know he won’t ever really be home again. I know he will be gone, replaced by an adult version who only comes back for visits.
I know my baby will be gone. And I know that’s the goal – to have him leave successfully, to let him follow his dreams.
But Dylan has been my life – along with Shane – for so long, I simply can’t imagine any other life. Nor do I want to imagine another life.
So I am going to trot merrily along beside him, visiting the colleges, singing along to the music, waiting to hear how it went, spending that quality time. Because to do anything else would be unbearable.
When Dylan was in first grade, he sang in the school talent show.
In second grade, he was the lion in The Lion and the Mouse, a twenty-minute extravaganza starring the entire second grade. Little Dylan had a solo.
Throughout elementary school, Dylan sang in school talent shows. Then he branched out: Dylan sang at the county fair’s talent show.
It was his first time performing outside of school, and his first competition. He didn’t win, but he got into the finals. Not bad for a ten-year-old kid competing against full-grown adults.
It was the beginning of a long streak for Dylan.
In sixth grade, he was almost selected to sing a solo at the Kennedy Center when the Children’s Chorus of Washington performed there. He came in second. On the night of the performance he had a fever of 102º. Thank God Dylan didn’t have to sing.
In 9th grade, he started competing again. In his high school talent competition, Dylan got into the finals, but placed fourth. In tenth grade, he made it into the finals, but placed second. In eleventh grade, he made it into the finals as part of a duet, and placed second again.
He made it into the finals of the county talent show but didn’t win. The judge literally asked Dylan, “Was that a joke?” The kid sang his heart out and blew the roof off the place, and the judge said, “Was that a joke?” Who does that to a 15-year-old kid?
He didn’t sing in the county talent show finals again.
Instead, given his ability to sing opera, Dylan auditioned for a statewide classical competition during his junior year. He got Honorable Mention – the only vocalist in the state to get that award – but he didn’t win. This year, he auditioned again and didn’t even get Honorable Mention.
I know I am biased. But I think Dylan deserves to win sometimes.
So when he entered the school talent competition during his senior year of high school, it was his last chance to be recognized for his talent. I’m not saying there were no other talented acts performing, because there were. But the judges were expected to judge on Stage Presence, Interpretation and Technique – and Dylan nailed all three of those, in both of his performances.
Dylan sang “Never Enough” and “Hostage.” (Click on the titles to see the performances.)
Am I wrong? Are these not winning performances? Dylan even handled a horrific technical error – dead-center during his final song – like a pro.
But Dylan made it into the finals, and didn’t win. He placed third.
Officially now, Dylan can say he never placed first in a single singing competition.
Well, unless you count when he was nine and sang at his dad’s work event. Even the adults who competed “against” Dylan gave him a standing ovation – and he got a gift card!
I have to remember that win, since it was the only one. Even the lead role in Willy Wonka, a part that was designed for Dylan, was offered to another student. Fortunately, that student backed out and Dylan got the part.
My dad often reminds me that Michael Jordan was cut from his high school basketball team. The part he leaves out is that he was only cut once. After that, Jordan became their star player.
Dylan’s been cut all four years.
Lady Gaga was bullied mercilessly in school. She specifically said, “I was never the winner. I was always the loser.” She finally got recognized – eventually – for her talent, winning an Academy Award this year. Lady Gaga turns 33 this month.
The secret, I guess, is to never give up.
To be fair, Dylan doesn’t even want to be famous. He just wants to make music.
But if he does become a professional singer – famous or not – he sure does have a good backstory.
Shane is struggling with Honors Spanish 3.
After the first day of school, Shane came home worried. He’d gone from a middle school, non-honors class to a high school honors class overnight, and he didn’t understand anything that was said on the first day.
But the next day, Shane said that nobody understood anything that was being said. And that made him feel better.
Fast forward to the end of the semester. Shane eeked out a B in the class, and a C for the quarter.
As I’d done earlier in the year, I emailed Shane’s Spanish teacher, who is wonderful. I asked for her opinion on how to – or if we should – move forward. Shane could have dropped Spanish 3 for the second semester.
This time, the teacher explained the problem perfectly. She said:
I think the best way for Shane to study is to use the vocabulary we are using in class and create webs or connections between words that are related. He needs to be able to recognize each word and also create relationships between words.
For example, in the unit we are working on now all about work and volunteering, he needs to be able to connect “encargarse” (to be in charge of) with “gerente” (manager) or “llenar” (to fill out) with “solicitud de empleo” (job application). Shane’s issue is that he’s not recognizing “llenar” or “encargarse” so then he doesn’t realize what belongs with it in context.
To be fair, I see no connection between “encargarse” and “gerente” after taking Spanish myself. But reading this struck a chord: Shane is not making meaningful mental connections between Spanish words!
Shane had a vision processing disorder. In his case, maybe words and meanings didn’t automatically connect in his brain. For most kids, this happens seamlessly when they are learning words; the meaning is attached to the word. But for Shane, since his brain processed differently, he learned the words without really grasping the associated concepts.
While Shane certainly can create mental connections now, I think that part of the reason he’s so literal is that everything he learned was literal until he completed vision processing therapy. All the words he learned until the age of nine, when he finished therapy, were “just words.”
Shane started vision processing therapy at age six. An average six-year-old child understands 20,000 to 24,000 words. So if Shane’s “mental connector” was previously faulty, it’s surprising that he has connected as many English meanings as he has to this day! So designating meaning to Spanish words – which originally, for any non-Spanish speaker, are essentially gibberish – would be a real challenge for Shane.
I imagine people think I make excuses for Shane, who “just needs to study harder” or something. And vision processing disorders are so rarely detected and misunderstood. But I watched Shane grow up. I knew him as a toddler, who never wanted to look at a book – who just enjoyed the sounds of the words when I read. I knew he was an “audial learner” before I knew that “audial learner” was a term.
I’ve listened to his questions over the years, about things that some people don’t need to ask – almost exclusively questions that include the phrase, “What does it mean?” Because other than the soft social undertones of speech, Shane can teach himself everything else in the world.
So while Shane’s teacher is encouraging him to visually learn word webs, I am trying an additional tactic. I bought a Spanish CD set, designed for audial learners.
And if it doesn’t work for Shane, I’m going to give it a try.
