So I kind of missed Christmas.
I came home from substitute teaching on Thursday with a fever. As I had for the prior three days, I immediately took a nap.
Days followed – and I felt worse. And worse, and worse. The fever never disappeared, except for a few minutes – hours? – at a time. On the night before Christmas Eve, I was still somewhat upright. But by Christmas Eve, I was bedridden.
By Christmas morning, the fever was gone – or so I thought. I watched the kids open their presents, feeling bad but not awful. I honestly believe God gave me a reprieve so that I could enjoy the moment.
I had a very merry Christmas morning.
Except the fever came back again.
Over the course of the holiday, Bill did everything. The man is a complete saint.
The dog never left my side. Unfortunately, that also meant she vomited on my bed, straight through two comforters that then required washing – so Bill just added that to his list of things to do.
I wasn’t any help. I didn’t go anywhere, or do anything. I still got to see family, and when the kids were home, I was well enough to enjoy their presence.
But I slept a lot.
And by this morning, I needed a doctor.
So, I went to a doctor. He claimed that I may have an upper respiratory infection, since I am not getting better. (I didn’t really make a deal of the fact that I was progressively getting worse.) Although they didn’t come until December 26, I got antibiotics for Christmas.
Hopefully, soon I will be well enough to enjoy the rest of the break with my family. It was a different kind of Christmas, but I got what I wanted most: a relatively happy family.
Oh, and the antibiotics.
I got an email about another missing assignment for Dylan.
“When are you going to do this, Dylan?” I asked. He only had two days of school left before the holiday break.
“I guess I’ll do it at school tomorrow,” he said.
“You still have two tests to make up in school, and eight missing assignments in Spanish. You need to do this tonight.”
“I can’t do it tonight.”
“You can,” I said. “And you will. I will be here at 8:35 and you can get it done tonight.”
“I can’t do it tonight,” he said. “My brain is just fried.”
“I’ll see you at 8:35,” I said.
At 8:40, I went up to his room.
“Let’s go, Dylan,” I said. “You’ve got to get this done.”
“I have like two whole days to get it done. I’m not going to do it now.”
“You are going to do it now,” I said. I rarely put my foot down on such things, since it’s his right to fail, but he had been begging to keep his role in the play, which he can’t do if his GPA drops is below a 2.0.
He stomped downstairs.
I sat with him for half an hour while he stared at the computer. Then he typed some crap about hating school. Then he had a major temper tantrum and stormed upstairs raging. Then he left the house (in the freezing cold) and didn’t come back for half an hour. Then he came back, still screaming about how he simply couldn’t possibly do this work tonight.
Dylan had a major meltdown.
Frustrated, I asked Bill to sit with Dylan and make sure he got the work done. So Bill sat with him until almost midnight.
But Bill didn’t “make” Dylan do his work. In fact, Bill sat there and philosophized instead. So Bill got points for being Savior of the Day and Kind Soul, while I was branded Wicked Witch of the Schoolwork.
So now I know – beyond a shadow of a doubt – that I can’t trust Bill to do any disciplining – which, quite honestly, I already knew. I know Bill would rather avoid conflict than stand his ground.
It’s why I have to be in charge, tired as I am of being in charge. I feel like Alpha Dog with only three legs.
The next day, Dylan texted about how evil I am. He said I need to stay out of his life and that my “love” feels like “hate.”
Later in the day, he told Shane that the reason Dylan gets bad grades is because I stress him out.
And Shane believed him.
If I weren’t so awful, Dylan would be getting wonderful grades. He would surely be turning in all of his work on time. He would absolutely be doing fine without any interference from me.
So I stopped interfering. Again.
Because it’s been proven, time and again, that Dylan has no trouble at all handling his schoolwork all by himself. (Note the sarcasm dripping from this sentiment.)
Dylan thinks he’s going to fly through the rest of the quarter, getting everything done without talking to any teachers or checking his grades online. He thinks he’s going to miraculously figure out what’s due, and turn it in on time, for the first time in the history of the world, without changing any of his behaviors.
He thinks he’s going to keep his lead role in the play.
But he will not.
And somehow, that will be my fault, too.
Merry Christmas to me.
When Shane finished his vision therapy – after 18 months and $20,000 – the doctor gave us two things: instructions about how to sit when reading, and $300 glasses with no discernable prescription in the lenses. He was instructed to wear these glasses at all times.
Shane never sat the right way when reading. He sits all hunched over, too close to the book, with the world’s worst posture. In other words, he reads like I do.
About six months later, I learned that Shane’s friend was reading small print for him because Shane couldn’t see it.
So we went to a vision specialist, and got Shane a prescription for lenses that would help him read. Shane wore his glasses for more than a year – well into fourth grade – before he suddenly decided he didn’t need them anymore. Later, we found out that his eyesight had corrected itself.
But then there was this test, where he didn’t make his goal. And suddenly I’m panicked because – what if? What if Shane’s posture caused him to have trouble again? What if he should have worn his prescription-free lenses longer? What if all that therapy suddenly reversed itself and Shane reverted back to being unable to read?
So I’ve been watching Shane, looking for signs of vision processing relapse.
I’ve paid close attention to how he reads. I’ve asked him to read things out loud that, normally, I would know he knew. I’ve checked and double-checked that he’s not flipping numbers when he does his math homework. And I’ve really listened when he talked about any struggles – although none of them seem to be related, except for the standardized test.
Shane came to me one day and said, “Mom, maybe my vision processing is coming back.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Because I was reading the word ‘brain’ on somebody’s shirt, and I thought it said, ‘Brian.'”
“I can see why you would think that,” I said, “but that is perfectly normal.” I realized that I – and most people – have done similar word flips throughout their lives, without any harsh repurcussions.
In fact, now that his test is over, there don’t seem to be any signs of relapse at all. Perhaps he just didn’t do well on his test. I always tested better in math than I did in English, especially in vocabulary, all the way up to the SATs. I hate math, and I love words. But my test scores sure didn’t show that.
So I don’t think Shane’s having a relapse of vision processing disorder.
I am thrilled and relieved, and I also feel a bit stupid.
But mostly I’m just thrilled and relieved.
When I discovered the plummeting of Dylan’s grades, I texted Dylan. I won’t go into the details about which grades had tanked and why, but the gist – as always – was that he hadn’t finished a whole slew of stuff. And some of the stuff that he thought he’d finished, he’d never turned in.
We texted for 20 minutes back and forth. Dylan was down on himself. I was trying to remain positive. I had recently come to the conclusion – again – that we needed to focus more on his brilliance and less on his disability. (It’s just that his disability is so darn prevalent!)
Dylan met with his case manager on Friday, and didn’t text me again after that. But when he came home, he was full of resolve.
“I spent today at lunchtime getting caught up on Algebra. Then basically, Monday is NSL day,” he said, referring to all the missing Work he had in U.S. Government class. “On Tuesday, I’m going to finish my Algebra test and my Computer Science test because now I only have like three questions on each of those.”
“What are you going to do this weekend?”
“Spanish,” he said, almost laughing. “I have a lot to do to get caught up in Spanish.”
“What about English?” I asked. Somehow Dylan, who really doesn’t want to write, always procrastinates worst with English.
“Oh yeah,” he said. “This weekend I’m going to do the 21 questions that I somehow missed in English, too.”
Then he trotted upstairs. About twenty minutes later, he came downstairs.
“And Gretchen helped me make a plan,” he said. (I had never heard of Gretchen before and, quite honestly, I can’t remember who actually helped him make the plan.)
“What kind of plan?” I asked.
“We had a sub, so she said she was really organized and would help me make a list of all the stuff I needed to do. So we spent all of third period going over all the stuff.”
“You have a list?” I asked, incredulous. I’ve been telling him to make a list since …. well, forever.
“Yeah,” he said. “And it’s all prioritized with what I should do first and stuff.”
“Great,” I said.
“Yeah,” he said. “It’s really nice having friends.”
Then he trotted upstairs again.
Dylan’s birthday was this weekend, so we tried to make it a nice one. But then we forced him to do some work on Sunday.
“It’s only going to take 20 minutes!” he said.
An hour later, we told him he needed to finish up.
“I’m almost done!” he said.
After that hour, he didn’t do a single thing. He swears that everything needs to be done during school, and that his GPA is going to skyrocket just as soon as these next few days pass.
We shall see.
Dylan was out of school – sick – for three days in as many weeks. And he’s had two choral field trips.
He’s never recovered – although physically, he is well.
At school, he can’t catch up.
He’s been behind before. In fact, he is almost always behind. He started off the quarter going full-force. He came home with work, announced it, went and did it. He worked during lunches and after school. He caught up in everything. He swore he was aiming for straight A’s this quarter.
And then he just … stopped.
He doesn’t talk to his teachers. He doesn’t make up his tests. He doesn’t show up when he says he will, to finish work that needs to be finished.
Then – after a choral field trip or a play rehearsal lasting several hours – Dylan comes home claiming that he has no homework. He doesn’t study for anything. He doesn’t complete classwork that’s missing.
In fact, he doesn’t do anything at all at home.
“Dylan,” I say. “Don’t you have anything at all you can do for school? You have three D’s and a C.”
“There’s nothing I can do at home,” he says. “I have to do all that stuff at school.”
“Let’s look online together,” I say. “Let’s see what you have.”
He rolls his eyes and huffs. We look online together.
“I did ALL of that,” he tells me. “Just because it says it’s not done on the computer doesn’t mean it’s really not turned in.”
Then he goes up to his keyboard and sits and plays music. He does this for hours.
Meanwhile, his grades plummet. He failed a unit test in computer science – again. This is the second unit test he’s failed (of two) and there is no way to bring up those grades. He can’t “retake” a test like he did in middle school. Meanwhile, he’s not getting his work turned in, either, so all of his grades are dropping.
And I am just watching the landslide.
Again.
And just when we all thought the auditions were finally over….
Dylan, as you may recall from my last blog post, was very sick and missed school again on Monday.
I got a call early on Monday morning from Dylan’s drama director. First, I thought she was the school’s automated system, calling me for a substitute teaching job. Thinking she was an automated robot, I hung up on her.
When the phone rang again, I answered the phone and waited for the robot to start talking.
After a long pause and no robot, I said, “Hello?”
Dylan’s director introduced herself and said, “I’ve had a lot of people drop out of the play over the weekend, and I’ve had to do some recasting. Would Dylan be interested in playing the role of Willy Wonka instead of Grandpa Joe?”
My heart leaped for him. WOULD he! He would be delighted! He would be over the moon! Yes! Yes! He would LOVE that!
But Dylan was asleep, with a 101-degree fever, and it wasn’t my decision to make. I knew he’d like to play Willy Wonka, but I didn’t feel right accepting the role for him.
But … I’m his mom. At that exact moment, my main job was to let him sleep, hopefully to get over his fever and get plenty of much-needed rest.
“Um, well, Dylan’s sick,” I sputtered.
“I heard he was sick,” she said. “That’s why I’m calling him at home.”
I had to do something – fast. I couldn’t wake him up. I just couldn’t. Still, she needed an answer, so she could move forward.
“Yes, sure,” I said. “He could do that. He would love to play Willy Wonka.”
“Okay, thanks,” she said, and hung up, presumably to go and cast the rest of the play.
I printed out a Congratulations Mr. Wonka note, complete with a picture from the book by Roald Dahl, and put it in front of Dylan’s door.
Two hours later, Dylan woke up and came downstairs.
“Really?” he croaked, hair askew and barely awake.
“Really,” I said.
He smiled a huge smile. “That’s awesome,” he said.
Then we had a long talk about the expectations of the directors, and what his commitment means to the cast. I reminded Dylan to treat this role like a job. Dylan is excellent at jobs. He works hardest when he knows people are depending on him. He never lets up, not even for a moment, and he gives it everything he’s got.
Dylan is not as good at school, and it is a school play. But in this case, I think he can transfer his professionalism to where it’s needed most.
Because people sure are depending on him.
While Shane was auditioning for his play (and waiting for callbacks, and the cast list to be posted), Dylan was sick.
I mean, Dylan was really sick. He called me to get him from school. Then he vomited in the school parking lot, and spent days in bed with a fever. It was horrific.
I canceled work – lots of it. While Bill cleaned up most of the stray vomit (thank God for my husband), I spent my time washing sheets and pillows and towels and comforters, and chasing down sugary drinks that Dylan would drink, so as not to be dehydrated.
Right after Shane’s cast list was posted, Shane got sick. He was achy and had a fever and was in bed for days. While most of Shane’s sickness happened on the weekend, he still missed some school. So I canceled work and spent my time washing more sheets and comforters, and chasing down sugary drinks that Shane would drink, preferably ones with Vitamin C.
The day after Shane got well, Dylan auditioned for his play. He got his callback, and his cast list was posted. Finally, after all the auditions were over, we all gathered together for family movie night on Friday night.
Just as we were about to start the movie, Shane threw up.
Shane’s fever hit with a vengeance and he spent the weekend holed up with a high fever. It lasted days. It was horrific. I spent the weekend washing sheets, towels, pillows and comforters, while Bill cleaned up the vomit buckets (thank God for my husband). We chased down even more sugary drinks for Shane to drink – this time, so that Shane would not be dehydrated.
His fever finally lifted on Sunday, and he started to eat again, trying to get his strength up so that he could go to school the next day.
And that’s exactly when Dylan came home from his friend’s house and said he felt sick. He’d been complaining of cold-like symptoms for two days, so I felt his forehead.
Dylan had a fever of 101.
I canceled my work, again, for Monday, since Dylan would not be in school. I will be spending yet another day washing sheets, towels, pillows and comforters.
We now have plenty of sugary drinks.
So this week, Dylan auditioned for his school play.
He had the audition. They asked him to sing two different songs, and one of them twice. He got a callback.
Dylan got a callback for the lead.
He got a callback for the part of Willy Wonka in … Willy Wonka. He spent hours learning the song, perfecting it. It sounded beautiful, what little he shared with me, and we were all a little excited here.
We were also all a little nervous here. Willy Wonka is a huge part, and Dylan barely has time to do his schoolwork as it is. He would have to memorize all those lines, all the songs, all the places he needs to stand – where and when – on stage.
We were also nervous because of Shane, who had just gone through the same thing and didn’t get the part of his dreams.
Well, Dylan didn’t get the part of his dreams, either. After days of agony, he finally saw the cast list this morning.
Dylan got the part of Grandpa Joe.
And – best of all – he is actually excited about it. He’s got a huge part, and he sings sometimes, and he’s going to have a lot of fun playing someone who is really old.
Although they might ask him to cut his hair. I’m not sure he’s thought of that. It’s currently below his shoulders, and green.
Anyway – all is well here in the Hawkins house. Both kids got parts that will be fun to do. Both kids are looking forward to a season of learning lines, singing songs and having fun with the rest of the cast.
It’s going to be a long three months, but it will be worth it.
I’m just thanking God that the auditions are over.
Shane will be in the school play. In fact, everyone who auditioned will be in the school play.
The director – who is a saint – decided to keep everybody who auditioned, and has created two separate casts so that more kids will have a chance to do their things. They’ll be performing on separate days/nights – but all kids will be in both casts.
To be quite honest, I don’t care at all that Shane has a minor role. If there were no minor roles, there would be no play. It’s not all about “being the star” on stage. It’s more about working together, being together, and creating something from nothing. It’s about starting with nothing but a script and a group of people, and making a whole show.
It’s about the kids having fun and making people smile.
I think Shane’s going to have a really good time being part of the cast, helping to make the play great, and hanging out with his friends after school. He’s going to be able to take a bow at the end, and hear the applause, and feel that surge of accomplishment from being a part of a team that’s created something great.
My only real concern is that – once again – all of Shane’s closest friends got lead roles. His two best friends got the two roles Shane wanted most. His other very close friend got the lead. Two female friends from his church group got lead roles.
Shane has some very fun, smart, and outgoing friends who are going to be marvelous on stage. I am thrilled for his friends. They are all great kids, and I’m really looking forward to seeing the play with them in it.
But I can’t help myself: I flash back.
All of Shane’s friends who got lead roles in the play … were also patrols in fifth grade. And Shane, who would have been a spectacular patrol, was not a patrol. It’s still painful for me to think about, even though Shane doesn’t talk about it anymore.
Shane’s a pretty happy kid, actually.
But I was not a happy kid. And I’ve realized that a lot of my angst over Shane’s being overlooked is just unresolved sadness from my own youth.
When I was growing up we moved, on average, every two years. As the “new kid,” I kept trying to reinvent myself. I figured eventually, I would get it right. I would somehow show up at a new school, and suddenly people would like me.
This finally happened – sort of – in college.
Before that, I was bullied, ignored, beaten, rejected and – most notably – silent. In 6th grade, I auditioned for the school talent show – and didn’t get in. In 8th grade, I auditioned for the school chorus – and didn’t get in. I joined sports teams in high school without auditions, but I spent most of my time on the bench.
I didn’t speak to anyone. I didn’t smile. And I sure didn’t go out of my way to be kind to people. I just wandered in, glanced around in a panic, and said nothing – did nothing – while waiting for someone to like me.
Looking back, I realize that I was never comfortable with myself as myself – which meant I let very few people know me.
But Shane is not like that. He is already content with who he is, a characteristic I so admire in him. He’s happy with his friends, his family, and his way of being.
And he should be, because Shane is a great kid.
I could learn a lot from him.
Shane texted me after he looked at the callback list, which was posted the day after auditions.
“I’m not on the callback list,” he said.
“I’m so sorry,” I said.
As in the past, Shane seemed to have been overlooked. I flashed back to the days when so many of his friends were accepted into the GT program, when every one of his friends was selected to be a patrol. I remember only too well his self-proclaimed “worst day of my life” – the day that all the patrols went to a huge carnival, exclusively for patrols, and Shane was left at school alone.
It was hard not to think of those things again, as all of the friends who auditioned were called back to audition again. And Shane wondered, again, What about me?
Rejection is a horrible thing. It’s the kind of thing that can take a self-confident person and crush his spirit. Or it can take an insecure person (like me) and turn her into an incapable blob who gives up on life.
Shane is so loaded with talent. He writes better than anyone I’ve ever known. He has a natural-born ability to take photographs that surpasses even my greatest efforts over the past 50 years. He’s a great drummer. He’s fantastic in the tech booth for the school’s morning show, and will likely be the student director next year. He’s hysterically funny, in a low, off-beat sort of way. He gives spectacular speeches and was a great magician (when it interested him to be one). Shane remembers things – punchlines, statistics, things that happened when he was a toddler – so well that sometimes I wonder if there’s more to his memory than just intelligence.
He’s just got a knack for these things.
But when it comes to being chosen for stand-out roles, on stage or in the world, sometimes he just gets overlooked.
