Spring break is ending. So this is it: the end of the third quarter.
Those of you who have been painstakingly reading my blog just because, at this point, you can’t seem to quit, will recognize that this is the MILLIONTH end of a quarter that we’ve stumbled toward in the Hawkins household.
But THIS one is different.
I hate to totally ignore Shane, because he has consistently gotten all A’s and B’s, and I should absolutely recognize him for that incredible work. He gives it all he’s got, follows the rules, and pulls himself up when he needs to do so. Best of all, he knows what’s due, and when, and he gets it done – and in.
Way to go, Shane!
But Dylan’s ADHD (and his attitude) have kept him in Total Struggle Mode for the past 11 years. So the end of every quarter usually comes with complete panic, Dylan staying after school for hours desperately trying to catch up, and screaming anxiety at every turn for at least two weeks.
Just … not this time. There are only five days left in the quarter, and Dylan is completely caught up.
He’s caught up because he’s been caught up all quarter long.
He’s been following his contract, and hasn’t lost his electronics even once. (I did threaten him once or twice, but he always already had a note from his teacher, saying that the missing assignment was turned in.)
Dylan has finished quizzes late, since he gets “time and a half” according to his IEP. And he has been doing his homework assignments in a rather haphazard fashion sometimes. And his long-term projects have probably suffered from procrastination. His grades might suffer because he’s not prioritizing school.
But all quarter long, he has kept on top of his assignments, and turned them in – without MY help.
I breathed a little easier this quarter. As panicked as I was a few times, Dylan knew everything before I did. He got the work done. He turned it in.
It really was that simple.
And now, with the end of the quarter coming in just a handful of days, he’s planning to go on a field trip on Friday. He’s meeting with teachers during his spare time. And he’s making sure – every day – that he won’t end this quarter with missing work or incomplete assessments.
In fact, Dylan is going to end this quarter without any problem.
So as the next quarter starts, I can actually breathe.
Spring break is emotionally tough for me this year.
I keep thinking about it being Dylan’s last year, and that we didn’t plan anything, and that I barely see him when we’re at home.
I had planned an elaborate and detailed road trip, but the weather didn’t cooperate. So I canceled the road trip and decided just to have fun from home.
So we went horseback riding on Weekday 1 of spring break. It was the only thing from our road trip that I was really sorry we’d be missing. So we hopped in the car.
Within five minutes, Dylan and I were arguing. He had his earphones in, and could barely hear me. We grumped at each other for the entire 45-minute trip. I was astounded that I thought we could spend four days in the car together.
Dylan and I had gone horseback riding on a prior college road trip, and it was awesome. Shane had never been horseback riding before.
So we went and rode some horses through the woods. Both boys were great with their horses, and we all enjoyed the ride. Afterward, the kids played with a potbellied pig and a cat – both rescue animals on the horse farm. And while riding was fun, their interaction with the animals afterward may have been the best part.
On Weekday 2, I was tired from all the horseback riding (and driving) so our big adventure was a bit smaller. We went out for ice cream – but not just any ice cream. We tried a new place where they made the ice cream right in front of us by freezing it with liquid nitrogen. So we got to do a little experimenting with our ice cream.
By Weekday 3, I was exhausted. I was so glad we weren’t on a 900-mile road trip! I planned nothing.
Shane came downstairs and asked, first thing, “So, what are we doing today?”
“I have absolutely no plans,” I told him. “And I am happy with that.”
Shane wasn’t as happy. So I arranged for the two boys to have the house to themselves all evening, to do whatever they wanted to do. And then they had a “sleepover” in the room usually reserved for video games and instrumental music practice.
Today is Weekday 4. Shane is going out with his friend, and Dylan is having a friend over. Beyond chauffeuring kids, I am thrilled to do absolutely nothing today.
I am glad we didn’t go anywhere for spring break. I’ve had enough.
On Saturday, for the first time, our entire family attended a protest march. We walked in the nation’s capital, as part of March For Our Lives.
All four of us strongly believe that banning assault weapons and having stronger gun laws would save lives in this country. And we went with other people – friends and grandparents – who also supported the cause. In fact, we went with hundreds of thousands of other people.
It was an intense day, with emotions running high on stage and in the audience. We got off of the subway and headed to the rally spot, an experience that Shane and Dylan had never had.
We walked into the street, holding our handmade signs proudly and high. As the kids stared wide-eyed at the other activists, reading other handmade signs and seeing so many people supporting the same cause, we kept walking. We walked until the crowds got thicker and we had to walk more slowly. We walked until we couldn’t walk at all. So we stopped, and we waited.
We couldn’t see the stage, but we could almost see a giant screen broadcasting the rally. Shane had joked about taking selfies with Miley Cyrus, but when she came on stage, he didn’t know it was her until the end of her song. We weren’t able to see what was going on, but we were able to feel it.
We listened while the teenagers who organized the march – and some pre-teens, too – called for stronger laws. They taught my kids, who really didn’t know, that there were elections every two years, not just every four years. They reminded my kids, and everyone else’s, that they will have a voice, that they will have a vote, and that all they have to do is register in order to make their voices heard.
Shane asked twice how long we would be there, and Bill had issues with his leg going numb, so the two of them swam back through the hordes of people until they could sit down. It was a long day.
Dylan and I stayed until the end of the rally. We were there for what has been called the loudest silence in history. We stood for six minutes in the midst of 800,000 noiseless people, crying for the loss of lives and holding up two fingers, high in the air, begging for peace.
Later I told Dylan that I’d always wished I could have been old enough in the sixties to use that peace symbol more regularly. After March For Our Lives, I realized that holding up that peace sign takes a lot more arm muscle than I’d realized.
“I know,” Dylan said. “My arm was tired, too, but I didn’t care. I just kept holding it up.”
The entire experience was far too profound for a simple blog post, but there is something about protesting as a family that makes me not only proud, but hopeful.
I am, sincerely, hopeful that this march – that the marches that took place all over the world – will produce some change.
And if they don’t, at least my children now know what it’s like to be part of history – and what they need to do next to keep that hope alive.
Spring break is upon us.
Last year, we went to Disney World during the break. It’s hard not to go to Disney World when you can stay for free at a Disney World hotel, thanks to your husband’s job.
Next year is Dylan’s last spring break before college. It seems unlikely that we will do anything except look at colleges with Dylan, and allow him to make his final decision.
So this year, I didn’t know what to do. I constantly feel like I am running out of time, like they’re almost gone, like there isn’t enough time. I know the whole world is going to change when Dylan leaves – and that my world will never be the same.
Shane’s world will never be the same either, but at least he will be a teenager and have more important things to do than wish Dylan were home. On the other hand, I will not have more important things to do.
So, in my panic, I planned a spring break trip. We want to save money for college, so I planned a very small, rather local trip – a road trip. The entire thing spanned a whopping 900 miles in four days.
I planned some great activities, and some bizarre activities, and some just-plain-off-the-beaten-path activities. I scoured the web for hours and hours and hours. Finally, I had the trip together, and announced to the children that we would be doing a trip that would be full of surprises.
“A trip?” Dylan said. “Why do we have to go somewhere? I wanted to hang out with my friends! I wanted to go to a concert! Why would I want to just sit in a car?”
I sighed. Later, I asked Shane – who was rather excited – if he would mind going on the trip without Dylan.
“It wouldn’t be as fun,” Shane said.
He was right, of course, but also … I had planned this road trip for both boys, so that they would be sure to have a great time for those few days, and still have plenty of time at home afterward. And finally, they agreed that they would both go.
But as the time drew nearer, I checked the weather. It was a terrible forecast. The entire four-day trip was plagued by rain and near-freezing temperatures. I’d planned some great outdoor activities, and some mediocre indoor activities. But the outdoor adventures were the best – and the weather was not cooperating.
The only way to do this trip was to do it … another time.
So I canceled the hotels, canceled the activities, canceled my excitement at the thought of spending those four days sharing some cool stuff with the boys.
So now spring break is upon us, and none of us has anything to do.
It is not my job to worry about Dylan’s SAT test. The entire time I was worrying, I was thinking how much nicer it would have been if Dylan had spent a little time thinking about his SAT test – instead of me.
A week ago, his voice coach casually mentioned that it was time for Dylan to start taking charge of his own things – choosing his own songs for lessons, practicing on his own time, keeping his own schedule.
“Brilliant!” I exclaimed, waving my arms at Dylan. “That would be wonderful!”
Dylan said, with all the conviction in the world, “I WOULD take charge of my own stuff if only you didn’t do everything FOR me!”
The SAT test was four days later. Dylan hadn’t studied, printed his ticket, or found out where/when the test was taking place. He didn’t even have his two sharpened number-two pencils.
But I didn’t do anything for him. I told him to look at the website, to find out what to expect from the test. I told him to print out his ticket. I told him to prepare his snacks.
Most important, I told him to find out about his extended time. WE – meaning the school and I – had already requested (and been approved for) extended time for Dylan. Because of his IEP, he gets time-and-a-half to complete tests.
The process of requesting extended time can take up to three months. Dylan, of course, did not do this himself.
In addition, he hadn’t completed any of the tasks he was supposed to do – for school or for music. I made a list of all the things he was supposed to have completed, but hadn’t, and I set the list aside. I told him there would be a list if he didn’t do some things himself before the SAT test was over – but I didn’t ask him to do anything.
And sure enough, he didn’t do any of them.
Nine hours before the test, he still hadn’t looked at the website for “what to expect.”
“What do you think you can expect, then?” I asked.
“I’ll wait in line and then go in and take the test,” he said.
While I had prepared weeks in advance, especially to make sure he’d be in the right place to have “extended time,” Dylan didn’t know about the rules, the cell phone ban, the timing, or even if he could chew gum. (He needs gum for testing.)
In fact, Dylan barely got ready to leave the house for the SAT. When it was time to go, he had a banana and coffee (from me). Somehow, he still didn’t have his two sharpened number-two pencils.
So I stood in the kitchen silently. I didn’t gesture, but I looked at the pencils.
HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO STOP DOING THINGS FOR HIM IF HE REALLY DOESN’T DO THEM HIMSELF?!
On the way out the door to take the SAT test, after allowing him to get ready “by himself” (and knowing full well that he would have had no snacks, water or coffee if I hadn’t gotten them ready for him), he was heading to the car with his pile.
“I want to go back to elementary school,” Dylan said.
I laughed. “Me, too,” I told him – meaning, I’d like to go back to my elementary school days, too.
The statement came after Dylan spent almost 15 minutes doing “everything” for himself.
When Dylan auditioned for his spring musical, it was just before the second semester contract took effect. He had a ton of missing assignments, many of which he couldn’t make up, and he was failing more than one class.
One of the classes he was failing was AP English – and his AP English teacher is also the director of the spring musical.
So Dylan auditioned in January.
“How did it go?” I asked after his audition.
“I totally bombed,” Dylan said. “I messed up the dance moves and I stuttered through the whole monologue. The only thing I did well was the singing.”
Dylan is a wonderful singer. Last year, he had the lead in the spring musical – and did a beautiful job. In fact, Dylan has had a lead role in every musical since he started participating in musicals in 7th grade.
This year, though, his AP English teacher auditioned him. His chorus/piano teacher – who has known him for three tumultuous years – assisted with the audition process. They both knew that Dylan was failing multiple classes – and students need a 2.0 and no failing grades in order to participate in extracurricular activities.
They’d seen last year’s musical, and they knew Dylan could do the job well. But, given the circumstances, they determined that Dylan was “not dependable,” and they gave him a part that could be easily cut – just in case his academic issues knocked him out of the play. (We learned this later, after he didn’t get a lead role.)
So he got a nameless role in the ensemble, which included one solo singing line and plenty of back-up singing and dancing.
Dylan had an absolute blast performing in the ensemble. While it was every bit as stressful during rehearsals, he took the role very seriously. He memorized the dance moves, he knew where he was supposed to be – and when – on stage. He didn’t lag behind (like he does in the classroom) and he always changed into the appropriate costumes beautifully.
He was enthusiastic and funny, dancing with grace and strength, and smiling through every scene. He smiled and smiled and smiled, like he did when he was little – like he did from the time he was six weeks old, until about the second month of sixth grade.
He was a shining star among shining stars. And the play itself, with its varying lead characters, was one of the funniest and best I’ve seen at any school.
After opening night, Dylan’s AP English teacher/play director called him aside.
“Dylan,” she said.
Uh-oh, he thought. He was sure he’d done something wrong.
“Someone just pulled me aside and asked me about you,” the director said. “She wanted to know who the guy with the long hair was, because he was doing such a great job in the ensemble.”
Dylan breathed a sigh of relief.
“I don’t know what you’re doing out there,” said the director. “But whatever it is, keep doing it!”
And he did. It may have been the best play experience he ever had.
While Dylan was taking SAT tests and doing fun stuff at home, Shane went away for the weekend to a Christian convention at the beach.
The group – including Bill, who chaperoned and drove – left right after school on Friday. Everyone stayed up until at least midnight while they were there. Shane slept on the floor in a sleeping bag – and he didn’t sleep much.
But Bill sent me pictures and videos as the weekend progressed, and texted me with updates.
The overwhelming tone of every message was: Shane is having a great time.
Shane was hanging out with his friends, and enjoying every minute. They went to enormous whole-convention events, with thousands of teenagers. At 14, Shane was one of the youngest participants in this teen-focused event. The schedule included a blazing, EDM- and rock-inspired concert first thing in the morning, and hooting-hollering comedy acts that started well past Shane’s bedtime.
In all the photos I received, Shane’s eyes were beat red. He was utterly exhausted. But he was awake and gazing at all of the excitement around him, and having so much fun with two of his good friends that he didn’t even realize how tired he felt.
It was a great experience for Shane, whose idea of a good time is – usually – to be wildly entertained without doing too much. If given the option, I think he would spend the entire day either watching YouTube or TV, interspersed only with breaks for junk food and posting stuff on Instagram.
So he summarily dismissed the idea of the convention when I asked if he wanted to go. It wasn’t until he found out that his friends were going that he even considered it.
When Shane was sick a couple of weeks ago, the electricity briefly went off. He was on the couch, with nothing to do, since the TV had gone off and he was still sick.
“How did people live before electricity?” he asked me, baffled.
I didn’t bother explaining that people had to forage for their own food every day. I knew he was just bored. So I told him, “Reading has been a nice past time for the last few thousand years.”
Shane was not deterred. “I can’t do anything except think! It’s only been 20 minutes without electricity, and I’ve already been thinking so much that I decided that Adam and Eve can’t be real because they were both white.”
I didn’t disagree, although I have no clue if Adam and Eve were white. I didn’t personally know either of them.
“Why does that mean they can’t be real?” I asked him.
“Because if they were both white, how could they be responsible for all the other races in the world?”
Hm.
Shane likes to keep the electricity on, so that he doesn’t have to face such things. As quiet as he is, his brain is always moving – unless he’s stimulated by some wonderful outside experience.
And over the weekend, the whole world was electric. That convention kept him so busy, and so focused on fun and good stuff, that he didn’t have time to think at all.
He could just be himself, and enjoy life.
Today there was a nationwide walkout to protest the never-changing gun laws in this country. Started by the teenage survivors from Stoneman Douglas High School in Florida, the walkout included 17 minutes of silence at 10:00 in the morning – one minute for every victim of the Valentine’s Day shooting spree.
Here in the Hawkins household, this was a rather controversial event – but not for the reason you might think.
First of all, we still have a postcard from Sandy Hook Elementary School displayed on the front of our refrigerator. It reminds me every day of the tragic event that occurred there in 2012.
The postcard is a thank you letter from the school for the snowflakes we made and sent to the survivors of that tragedy. When the students returned to Sandy Hook, it was festively decorated with snowflakes from all over the world, letting the kids know that they were not alone in their suffering.
It was the least we could do. And it was the only thing that was done.
No one did anything to stop it from happening again – and again and again and again.
So when the opportunity came up for this walkout, which invited high schools all over the country to participate, our entire family was on board. I made sure I had the day off of work, so that I could transport Dylan down to Washington, DC, where thousands of kids would be congregating. And Shane’s middle school organized their own walkout – to the tennis courts behind the school – where they observed the 17 minutes of silence in their way, even though they were only in middle school.
Dylan, however, decided to go to school. He didn’t want to miss his play rehearsal, which happened after school. The administration said that if kids were absent it would be unexcused – meaning that any work could not be made up – and they were not allowed to return to campus for any extracurriculars, including play practice during the most important rehearsal week of the year.
The play opens in two days.
So Dylan went to school. Seven hundred kids – nearly half of the school population – was not there, but Dylan was.
He texted kids in other schools, and got Snap Chats of kids who were at the DC march. He knew he was missing something important, but he had weighed the consequences, like an adult. He was only missing one walkout, in favor of something that was also important to him.
In addition, he knew that our family is already registered for the larger, possibly more impactful “March for Our Lives” protest march that will take place next Saturday. There is an additional walkout planned for April 20 – the anniversary of the Columbine shooting – one of the “first” school massacres – which happened before Dylan was even born.
That’s how long nothing has been done.
I reminded Dylan of this, via text, as we were chatting about the importance of changing the gun laws.
“We can’t just let it die out,” he texted back. He is ready to march.
And he is right.
This time, please God, let’s do something.
Dylan took the SAT test for the first time on Saturday.
As far as I know, he didn’t prepare at all. It’s really easy to prepare these days, with Kahn Academy’s self-directed test practice, but I never saw him access that site. In spite of my begging him for two years to practice for it, and then pleading for the past six months, and then – finally – on my knees asking him to just work for half an hour a day for one week… he didn’t bother.
Since he didn’t practice this past summer for half an hour a week (like I suggested), I showed him something that I read that said his test scores could go up by 90 points if he would practice for just six hours. He said, “I did,” whenever I asked him, but I never saw him put down his cell phone long enough to do any practice.
So two days before the test, while Dylan was playing games on his PS4 and face-timing his friends, I stopped sleeping. I kept worrying that I wouldn’t hear my alarm on test day, and then Dylan (who has four alarms of his own) wouldn’t get to the test. I had suddenly realized that my husband would be out of town with Shane – and on regular school days, I counted on Shane to be my “back-up” alarm.
Of course, Shane never wakes me up. In fact, I never sleep through my alarm. I start waking up around 4:30 in the morning on days when I am worried, and if I do get back to sleep, I always hear my alarm anyway. But I panicked for two days.
Things weren’t going smoothly for Dylan. He lost his $110 graphing calculator. Coincidentally, Shane lost his $110 graphing calculator, too. So, two days before the test, I ordered a brand new (now only $70!) graphing calculator for Dylan to use, with overnight delivery.
It arrived mere hours before the test, and Dylan told me that it’s a terrible idea to use a new calculator for the SAT (as if he knew something I didn’t). “I’ve never seen one like this before,” he said – at 10:00 the night before the test.
“Learn how to use it tonight,” I said, knowing he wouldn’t listen.
Then he plugged it in, and threw the batteries in the recycling pile. I am not sure how the calculator works, but it seems like it might need batteries.
So on the morning of the SAT, I put in the batteries. I’d been up for half an hour, and Dylan’s room was still dark. There was no sound, no movement. Nothing was happening.
I remembered the day that he slept through his alarms and didn’t take his learner’s permit test. That was fine – there were other chances – but was he really going to do it again for the most important test of his life?
I’d asked him to put some brain-healthy snacks in a bag – but he didn’t do that, either. So, while I was working on his breakfast and watching the clock – and still hearing nothing upstairs – I put together a bag of fruit, nuts and peanut butter crackers. I put in an iced espresso and pineapple juice. I filled up his giant water bottle.
And I stared at the clock.
I wondered: do I wake him up, on the day he’s most supposed to act like an adult?
When the clock hit 7:30 and he was supposed to be downstairs, I still heard no sound.
I zippered his lunch bag and sighed. I slowly turned – and there, suddenly dressed and ready, was Dylan.
I got an email from Shane’s school, announcing upcoming events this week, including the induction of all the 8th grade National Junior Honor Society members.
The induction is taking place? I thought. Shouldn’t Shane be eligible for that?
I looked it up. From what I could gather, Shane would need at least a B average, and would need to earn at least 25 hours of community service per year.
Shane has well above a B average. And in addition to his dog rescue work and other volunteer positions, Shane gets community service hours from being on the school’s Morning Show. He has so many community service hours, in fact, that – if service hours were the only requirement – he would have been eligible to graduate from high school in the middle of 7th grade.
So I asked Shane. “Did you get invited to join the National Junior Honor Society?”
He was playing Germs.io on the computer. “Yeah,” he said.
“You did?” I asked, incredulous. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I didn’t think it was a big deal.”
“It’s a very big deal!” I wailed.
“Well it didn’t seem like it. And I didn’t want to fill out all the papers just to join some club.”
“You didn’t want to fill out the papers.”
“Yeah,” he said, not even looking up from his video game. “It just seemed like more work.”
“Son,” I said, trying to remain calm, “It’s an honor to be invited to join the National Junior Honor Society. The word ‘honor’ might have given you a clue.”
He still didn’t look up. “Well practically everyone in the school got invited,” he said, likely referring to all of his close friends, who happen to be hard working, intelligent students like Shane. “It didn’t seem like any big honor.”
“It is a big honor,” I said. “And next time you get invited to join anything, please let me know – particularly if the word ‘honor’ is in it, and even if it doesn’t sound like a big deal.”‘
“Okay,” he said, and continued playing his video game.
The induction went ahead as scheduled, without my honorable son.
