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.
Dylan has been getting acceptances and rejections from colleges for several months.
Early March is an exciting time for college-bound seniors. He’s finally heard from some colleges who simply waited – since last August, when he applied – to respond.
One of those colleges – a small, private, liberal arts school – just offered him almost a free ride.
Dylan would be paying so little to attend college that he could go there for four years for less than it would cost to go to any other of his college choices for just one year. I mean, really, it’s practically free.
A lot of this, we think, is based on Dylan’s music audition. He had a hundred-degree fever when he auditioned, and he still knocked the ball out of the park.
And for Dylan, money is important. It’s not “everything” and he doesn’t have a pretentious bone in his body. But it’s important in the sense that logically, he is considering whether cost will outweigh the benefits. He is considering having no debt after college and having $140,000 of debt after college.
Dylan also said, “School is still school, no matter where I go.”
So we will be revisiting his top choices for overnights, and hoping he gets a clue to what his next steps should be.
I’m consistently surprised at the turn of events with regard to his future. Gap year, no gap year. Which college is the right one? What is next in the future of Dylan? And when and where will that future start?
Here is what I know for sure: Dylan has got a great head on his shoulders. He may be easily distracted and disorganized, but he doesn’t make stupid decisions. He is wise and thinks things through, considering all the elements. And he has a strong future ahead of him.
Dylan will make the right choice for himself. And I will be proud, whatever he decides.
After much ado, much waiting, some emails, some phone calls, we have made a sad discovery: Shane’s school doesn’t actually offer the Broadcast Media pathway that is “available” on the course website.
Dylan and Shane both wanted to do this pathway, but were halted by the sudden inclusion of journalism. Shane is getting through the first class – which is called “Video Production” but is actually “Journalism.” Dylan only made it three days in that class.
Both wanted desperately to work on videos, create films, make creative pieces for the whole world to see. And both were stopped from pursuing this pathway because the second class is also “Journalism.”
It turns out that Shane was the only person ever to pursue the pathway. At least aloud, Shane was the first to question the logic that leaves Broadcast Media students stuck in the Journalism class for four years.
The administrators – who really can’t fix the problem since Shane is the only person who actually asked about the pathway – were as nice as they could be. While he does not have the option he wanted, even though it has been clearly “offered” for years, Shane now has several options.
First and foremost, they suggested that Shane might want to attend a different school to follow his passion. This would work – if anyone could tell us which school might be able to provide the appropriate classes for his passion. So far, there is no evidence of any school like this in the entire county.
Second, they suggested that we try the college enrollment option, which would start in Shane’s junior year of high school. Shane could take video production classes at the local community college and get college credit while attending high school. (We also inadvertently discovered that he could get a two year film degree at our local community college!)
Third, if Shane really wanted to take IB classes in the IBCP program, he could try a different pathway. He’s shown some interest in cooking classes lately, and that is a viable pathway, so I am offering that to Shane as an additional option.
Like Dylan before him, though, I think Shane is going to be frustrated with the entire concept and just take whatever classes he wants to take. He’ll get the requirements done, no problem, and then he’ll take a mish-mash of courses that are enjoyable and intellectually stimulating. This won’t be as enticing to colleges, obviously, who would like to see some focused interests and even some IB courses on his transcript.
But we’ll see. I’ll talk to Shane, show him his options – which I’ve neatly arranged, of course, in about a dozen carefully printed pages to represent his various choices.
And then he’ll go in, see his counselor, and – like his brother before him – drop out of the most exciting pathway his school supposedly offered.
A week before the winter formal, I asked Shane to make sure his dress clothes still fit him. We’d gotten him dress pants and two sport coats for 8th grade graduation – but nine months ago, he was a lot shorter than he is now.
“Make sure you try on your shirt, too!” I warned. “And if your pants don’t touch your shoes, they are too small!” Shane went upstairs.
A week later, just before formal, Shane yelled down the stairs: “I can’t find my stuff!”
“What stuff?” I yelled back.
“My suit! My dress pants aren’t here! My coat isn’t here! My shoes aren’t even here!”
“How could you lose a whole suit?” I asked, incredulous.
I went upstairs. I dug around. “Didn’t you just try everything on last week?”
“No,” he mumbled. Apparently, he hadn’t thought that was very important.
We tore the house apart. We took things out of his closet that have been in there for ten years. We looked in other closets, other rooms, the dress-up bin that’s loaded with Halloween costumes.
“I took it to school for the play,” he said. “But I know I brought it home.”
Uh-oh, I thought. I do not know that he brought it home. In fact, other than his ski stuff, I don’t remember him every bringing home anything from school that wasn’t in his backpack.
Remembering his ski stuff reminded me: Shane loses things that are right in front of his very eyes. He’d lost his helmet and goggles only two weeks prior – and they were right inside his ski bag.
“Let’s just figure out something else to wear,” I told him. We mish-mashed an outfit from Shane’s black jeans, Dylan’s old shirt, his dad’s tie and a sports coat and shoes that Shane didn’t like.
But everything fit. And he looked awesome.
I figured we’d search for the clothes later, somehow, somewhere. His dress shoes, his other sports coat, his dress pants and shoes – they all had to be somewhere.
But they aren’t somewhere. They are just gone. And because he’s likely to grow another inch or so before Dylan’s graduation, Shane will need new dress clothes anyway.
But wow. Really? He lost his whole suit, and didn’t even know it.
A week or so after formal, I got dressed for work and reached for my black flats – the shoes I wear to work nearly every day. They’re not super fancy or anything, but they’re the best shoes I own for a long day teaching.
My shoes weren’t in my closet. So I checked downstairs, where I sometimes leave them by the door – but they weren’t there, either. I checked the car, the boys’ rooms, the laundry room, the nooks in crannies in every closet, the corners of every room in the house.
My shoes are just gone.
I’d like to be upset, but I am far too confused for that.
I had a promo code for a free Redbox DVD rental, but I had some trouble using it. So I accessed Redbox’s “Live Help.” The following is the conversation I had with Tina.
Me: I rented a DVD but I didn’t find a place to enter my promo code…?
Tina: I apologize for the inconvenience, don’t worry let me help you. Are you using the app?
Me: No – I rented a DVD already. I couldn’t find anywhere at the box to enter my promo code. I am now home, on a desktop computer.
Tina: You can see that option on the checkout page. ‘USE PROMO CODE”
Me: I didn’t see that option…? Now I have a video, and I don’t know what to do.
Tina: What browser are you using?
Me: I already GOT THE DVD. I was using the Red Box. I am using Chrome now, if it matters.
Tina: I see. Can you try deleting your browsing history and clear cache and cookies?
Me: I don’t think you understand my issue. I HAVE ALREADY RENTED THE DVD. I DID IT AT THE RED BOX. I AM NOT USING MY COMPUTER FOR ANYTHING EXCEPT TALKING TO YOU. Why on earth would I clear my cache and cookies? I WANTED TO USE A PROMO CODE TO RENT A DVD AT THE BOX. I couldn’t find where to ENTER the promo code. I DIDN’T DO ANYTHING ON MY COMPUTER! Do you actually understand my issue?
Tina: I apologize, I thought you are using the website. So you rented it at the box or reservation?
Me: At the box. I drove to the box and picked up a movie. I didn’t see an option to use my promo code. I got the DVD anyway and came home.
Tina: So basically you reserved it online right? You won’t be able to use the code at the box once the transaction went through.
Me: NO, I DIDN’T RESERVE IT ONLINE. I WENT TO THE RED BOX. I wanted to use the code AT the box. I didn’t see an option to use the code. Is there any way you can help me to use my code for this rental?
Tina: The box could have issues, the reason why you have not seen that option. I know this was really inconvenient, is there anything I can do to make it up to you?
Me: Yes. It would be really great if you could use my promo code for this rental, so that I get the free video that I am supposed to get.
Tina: I apologize, we don’t have the option to add the code once the rental went through. How about offering you a code for the charge would that work for you?
Me: I don’t know what that means, ‘code for the charge.’
Tina: To cover the charge, I will be giving you another code.
Me: And what will I do with that code?
Tina: This is a free rental. This is valid for 45 days.
You can use this online.
Me: So I have to rent another DVD, I will not be able to use the code at the box again, and I can’t get the free video I was supposed to get. The reason I rented from Redbox today was because I had a code for a free DVD. Having another code for another video isn’t going to help with this particular situation.
Tina: I totally understand. No worries let me refund the charge for you.
Me: That would be awesome. Do you want my promo code?
Tina: No it’s okay, thank you.
The next day, I got a bill for the rental: $2.12. I think I’ll just pay it.
When Dylan started his IBCP pathway, they tossed him into a journalism class – and he immediately quit.
“I hate writing,” Dylan said.
So when Shane started the same IBCP pathway, we were thrilled. Shane loves writing. And journalism knowledge is essential for a student to learn to do any kind of video news.
But last week, Shane’s teacher told him that he would be on the newspaper staff for four years. And that’s when the trouble started.
In a handful of emails, I learned that the IBCP pathway called “Broadcast Media” is actually being taught inside journalism, with a strong journalism emphasis, for four full years. Shane wanted to do some creative work, some expressive work, some marketing work. He wanted to learn the skills needed to work in video – not just in news. And he wanted to work in the studio, as part of a hands-on production program. After all, that’s what the course description said he’d be doing.
So the following is from my ongoing investigation – which will determine whether or not Shane will even want access into the IB program. This is taken from an email that I’ve sent to anyone who might be able to help.
Here’s the description of the Program of Study, which includes the same four-course schedule as the IBCP program:
Students in the Broadcast Media program learn about career options in a field that is constantly evolving. In the television and radio studio, analog, tape-based recording technology is being replaced by digital, computer-based recording. International multimedia conglomerates have transformed the industry from a small number of local broadcasting outlets to a wide variety of audiences via hundreds of cable and satellite stations. The explosion of new programming and technology options has opened myriad career opportunities for students to pursue. These courses are career education electives. The Program of Study (POS) provides students with a planned, sequential program that blends academic, technical, and workplace skills to prepare for college or career. The POS contains a minimum of four courses and includes relevant courses and a capstone experience such as an internship or a college course.
‘Broadcast Media’ encompasses a lot and, I would think, requires a ton of hands-on, studio experience. Will the journalism teacher be working in the studio with the IBCP kids? Or would their higher-level classes – like in 9th grade – also be ‘combined with journalism?’ Is a tech teacher supervising any of these hands-on classes, or studio time? How are they learning video production if the focus is on writing and journalism?
Other than the first course, Video Production, which is ‘combined with journalism,’ there is no mention of journalism in the rest of the pathway courses. For example, the Electronic Field Production course description says:
This course introduces students to the fundamentals of television. Students learn production fundamentals, how television developed, and television technology through studio hands-on experience. Students create their own productions using a school’s video equipment. Field trips and guest lecturers provide initial career information.
There is no mention anywhere of IBCP pathway students being on the newspaper staff. There is also no mention of the kids’ video pieces all being journalistic pieces. Next year, Shane is supposed to be exposed to production fundamentals and television technology through hands-on studio experience – with field trips and guest lecturers. They are supposed to create their own productions using the school’s video equipment. He was really looking forward to this, but from your perspective, does that actually happen?
And now, I wait.
For many years, Dylan has been considering taking a gap year.
Between high school and college, he wanted to take a break from school. He wanted to learn how to “do life” before learning to do life and school simultaneously. Since ADHD brains mature more slowly than non-ADHD brains, this seemed like a perfect opportunity for his brain to catch up with the brains of his peers.
But Dylan had no motivation to research gap year opportunities.
So I did it for him. I bookmarked fifty websites of places he could go, things he could do, during his one-year break. This included everything from summer jobs to overseas jobs to places near home he might enjoy working.
We always talked about the gap year as a time when Dylan would learn to organize his time, prioritize his responsibilities, feed himself properly, learn to do laundry, earn money, get enough sleep. Then, when he went to college, he would be able to focus on the most important thing: school work.
We made it very clear that Dylan couldn’t do a “gap year” by sitting at home on his cell phone. We also made it very clear that we weren’t paying $40,000 for a specialized gap year trip around the world. Many “gap year programs” are designed for wealthy parents who want their children to have an opportunity to see the world. They’re awesome opportunities – but they cost as much as a year at college, and the travelers do little – if any – work.
AmeriCorps was the perfect solution to Dylan’s gap year dilemma. Located in the United States, AmeriCorps has programs specifically designed for ages 18 to 25. Teams of young adults travel throughout the country, helping people and organizations who most need help. Dylan applied for the NCCC program, which was most likely to be physical labor – which Dylan loves.
But when he was accepted, Dylan didn’t even smile. In fact, he didn’t want to go.
I guessed “fear,” and suggested that he do some research on the program. So he did. The program is great. The people are great. But Dylan didn’t really know what to expect, and was still hesitant. He was afraid of the unknown.
So I set him up with an AmeriCorps alum – someone who’d lived the experience – to talk to Dylan about everyday life in AmeriCorps. I found the alum randomly, through an AmeriCorps Facebook page.
“I’m leaving this one up to God,” I told Bill. “If Dylan is supposed to go to AmeriCorps, this person will say all kinds of things that make him want to go. If Dylan isn’t supposed to go, then he’ll get a different kind of person.”
Dylan came home from the meeting and said, “I need to withdraw my application.”
What Dylan heard from the alum is that he would have to take classes on days he wasn’t working. Dylan hates classes.
There are tons of good things about AmeriCorps. And Dylan would probably have been fine in the program. In fact, he might want to try it after college.
But Dylan said, “You know, I was never excited about AmeriCorps. I’m really only excited about one thing. I want to go to college.”
Four years of discussion about a gap year – and what he wants is to go to college. Okay, then, college it is!
There never will be another dog like Xena. I know, dogs are all great. But Xena was the greatest. We would never, ever try to replace her.
But the house was so empty without her. So I started scouring the internet for a dog to rescue. I stayed up into the wee hours of the night, searching. Searching. Searching. The only dogs I liked online were the ones who reminded me of Xena.
I went out to the local shelters, but none of those dogs interested me, either. While I didn’t want a dog who looked like Xena, I wanted a dog whose personality was happy and sweet – a dog who loved people. I also wanted – hopefully – a dog who didn’t shed. This proved to be an impossible combination.
One night, I found a poodle-mix on craigslist who looked like a curly version of Xena. I was attracted instantly – in spite of the matted, horrific condition of the poor animal’s fur. I wanted to save it immediately. Unfortunately, the dog wasn’t available. It was a “lost pet” and a courtesy “lost and found” listing for the local animal shelter.
Then I found a dog in a West Virginia shelter – a little brown poodle mix – and I talked to Bill about getting that dog. It was only about an hour’s drive away, and the shelter was closed on Sundays. I planned to head out early on Monday morning, but it snowed and schools were delayed.
Finally, I went out in search of that little brown dog. On the way, I stopped at another shelter – which was closed due to snowy conditions. Then, when I got to my destination, that brown dog was long gone. He’d been adopted more than a week earlier.
Not one to give up, and hoping for a sign from God (as if the closed shelter and missing dog weren’t enough), I kept driving to shelters. I stopped at five different animal shelters, with absolutely no luck.
On my way back home, I remembered how much Shane had wanted to go with me, just in case. But he had school. My estimated arrival time at home was when he’d be getting out of school, so I texted him.
“Do you want to go with me to the local shelter?” I asked. “I can pick you up after school.”
“Sure,” he texted back.
So, after driving hundreds of miles, I picked up Shane, and we wandered into our local shelter. We were just looking at all the cute dogs. We rounded the corner and went into the “puppy” section, and there was a pitifully shaved dog who – in spite of his outward appearance – seemed excited to see us. He was also excited to look outside. He wanted to be petted. He wanted to get out of his little cage. But he was happy, happy, happy.
I thought, “This is the one.”
Shane thought differently. I explained, though, that the dog’s personality would be more obvious if we could take him out of his cage. So we did.
First, we had to put in an application, meet with an adoption counselor, and get all the members of our family together to meet the dog. Which we did – even though we weren’t really looking.
When the adoption counselor showed me his unshaved photo – the way he looked when he arrived two weeks prior – I couldn’t believe my eyes. It was the moppet dog with the matted fur from the craigslist “lost and found.”
And when that dog came into the room to meet us, with his pitiful shaved self, it was love all around. So we completed our application, and got ourselves a new dog.
He’s not a replacement for our beloved Xena. But he is a new light in our home, so it is a little less dark now.
Dylan’s last IEP meeting was somewhat anti-climatic.
It’s been twelve years. Twelve years of worrying about him. Twelve years of wondering why he didn’t like school, and trying to change his mind. Twelve years of fretting over what to do about his misery and his attitude. Twelve years of considering – and visiting and applying to – private schools, with a year of attendance. Twelve years of researching possible solutions, and researching the “usual” outcomes for kids with ADHD. Twelve years of considering medication, trying dozens of pills, and finally settling on helpful supplements and coffee to get him through.
And it’s been twelve years of discussing his progress, or lack thereof, in annual meetings. We set goals, considered outcomes, studied our options. Dylan had a battery of tests that took us from the simple, one-page “504” (whatever that means) to the 18-page Individualized Education Plan, announcing that Dylan had – not quite a disability but – an “other health impairment” that could result in his not succeeding in school.
Every year, we talked about what Dylan was doing in class, and then we set goals. Every year, we mentioned disorganization and lack of attention to details. Every year, we discussed Dylan’s apparent inability to complete his work on time. Every year, we made one goal a priority: Dylan should complete and turn in his work on time. After 267 different aims to achieve that goal, it still hasn’t quite been met.
We spoke with everyone from principals and guidance counselors to special ed coordinators, psychologists and case managers. Nearly every administrative person in every school building has known Dylan’s name – and considered, at least briefly, his issues – and possible solutions.
Every year, Bill took a few hours away from work to be there for the meeting. Every year, I filled out my parental report and attended with my usual file folder full of paperwork. Every year, Dylan attended – briefly at first, then for longer periods of time as he got older. Every year, teachers attended and told us how bright Dylan is, how much potential he has, and how he needs to find a way to focus better, to pay attention more in class.
And this year was no exception. Everyone knows he’s been accepted into college. We’ve come a long way since our first meeting, when we had to prepare for an all-out battle with the dementia-addled elementary school principal. In high school, the special ed team has been delightful – spectacular even – in every way. This year, I wished I’d purchased something meaningful for Dylan’s case manager: a car maybe, or a house. She deserves so much for all she’s done for Dylan in the past four years.
But this year, we just smiled and chatted and reviewed and said, “okay!” And then we all went our separate ways. Bill and I went home – and so did Dylan, since his half-day was complete. We didn’t worry a lot about anything that was said, since we’d heard everything before. We didn’t tell Dylan what he needed to do, since he’d heard it all before.
We just went home. We turned the page to the next chapter, silently and without much fanfare. Because that’s the best way to do it, for everyone.
My heart is a little bit broken, knowing that there will be no more need for the services of a special ed team in Dylan’s future. At the same time, Dylan’s graduation from special education is such a huge, positive step forward that it’s hard to be sad.
I guess I just wanted to be needed for a little bit longer.
