There are enough metaphors about the onset of spring that I wont try and come up with one now. All you need to know dear reader is that there are fresh mud tracks in the house from our saturated back yard, a bucket of baseballs lies empty next to a brand new bat. Our trunk is full of strewn lacrosse gear (the one thing I didn't get at Sports Authority the other day was a bag!) and we've traded in our hoodies for jackets. Today, despite the all call for school wide indoor recess, I strolled the non-detentioned fifth graders outside for some fresh air and it felt like redemption. Of course, the entire time I'm surrounded by students who just want to chat. Why aren't you playing? Instead they are asking me questions like, "If you had a chance to choose all brothers or all sisters, what would you choose?" how many languages we all speak (me? one), our love of author James Dashner and comparing New York dad (who wore a suit) to Ohio Dad (who works in a factory, no suit).
The other night, my wife piled us into the van and swore she saw Jupiter. Instead, she realized it was the full moon. It looked like I was driving straight into it, she had said. Winter feels like that sometimes, like you're driving into the moon.
I know my son is happy spring is coming. He just started a new sport, lacrosse, and it's unique for me because I know nothing. Of course, he's not the biggest kid but he's learning, hustling and improving--the signs of a player. February was a tough month for him, and us as his parents.
He started the month in detention for his use of language on a Mad Libs website. Remember Mad Libs? Those flip pads with silly stories with blank lines that asked you to write in random nouns, adjectives and verbs to make sentences like, "Four cats just rescued a dandelion from the Empire State Building while farting." Classic literature. Not having learned his lesson, he was caught passing notes to a friend with more bad language. More detention. The school was also reporting that he was getting more aggressive towards substitute teachers. He claimed he was fighting for his freedom. I told him he can quit the Ghandi act and do what the sub said.
We tied the foul language to Vine videos he was watching on youtube. I was too lazy to fight with him about taking his iPod up to his room. Not only that but when I scrolled though his Safari history my heart dropped when I saw porn sites, semi-nude pictures and questionable pop-up ads. The generational sin had reached down to my son, all under my watch. I felt sick. We went into defcon mode and changed his iPod habits and worked on changing the settings which are almost impossible. How convenient that as a parent you have to basically say no to something like a phone, tablet or device that allows internet access. The devices work with codes but the same code you would use to swipe open a phone is the same code that allows you to bypass the restrictions like website or music ratings and blocking apps. Parents are not a thought in the minds of these businesses that target kids.
At home, my son's behavior went from bad to worse. Without access to his electronics, he revolted. At one point he began undressing after dinner because if we were going to "take everything he had" then we could have his clothes too. One night, he donned his hoodie and stood defiantly in the back yard and refused to come inside. In the snow. 25 degrees. I did not go after him. If I had I would have been the talk of the neighborhood. After about 20-30 minutes I went down to the basement, took an old x-box game out of its case and threatened to snap it if he didn't come inside. He chose to come inside. The battle was one, but the casualties of war were evident.
After consulting with our doctors again, and some serious night on my knees in prayer (which included a talk with my lovely sister), much of my son's transgressions were due to the change in schedule. With all the snow days last month we chose to not medicate him. We dealt with him at home when he got squirrely, but we enjoyed his appetite. Now that the sun is beginning to shine again and school has been back in session he is back more to normal. At least normal in the sense of being hyperactive, attention deficit and oppositional normal can be.
My class has been equally difficult. I haven't worked a full week since January when you add in snow days, sick days and my own children's sick days. This last month has been rife with rolled eyes, attitude and mumbling defiance. But being a teacher is in essence a parent's role. You slack on discipline and you have to put your foot down to maintain control.
Did I mention we have been testing over the past month? My fifth graders are taking a new round of computer based standardized state tests. The curriculum has been hard to nail down as the changes continue to come from the state like a script from some bad movie that needs rewrites. Today we took the math portion of the test. Almost over 2 hours staring at a computer screen. No talking, no teaching on my part. I get to spend my morning handing students keys to go to the bathroom, sharpening pencils, restating directions and telling kids to turn around. Thank goodness for that college education.
There are glimmers of hope. It's spring right? Reminders that God is there. Yesterday two of my science students presented their scale models at the city Metro Parks function. I was not able to join them because my son needed to be picked up from robotics class after school. I hustled out of school, drove down to his middle school in the rain to find out he did not go (which he failed to tell me). I raced home to get Milly and then raced to the Metro Park. I walked in during their snack intermission. But luckily I was able to see them present to the city suits, take some pictures and talk with their parents. Proud teacher moment.
This past Sunday, my son went to one of those trampoline/jump places with the church youth group. He was so excited to just play. In one corner of the facility was dodgeball. The warning outside of the fenced area read, "Children will be grouped by size not by age," with the underlines just like I had them here for emphasis. When my son first went to play, he was playing with some small kid. Just the two of them. Dodgeball it wasn't. By the time the rest of the church group joined in, the teenager monitoring motioned my son to get out and said, "You're a little too small for this." He patted his head as a form of remedy for his broken spirit.
I could see the defiance welling inside my son. He threw his hand up. He walked down the stairs to me, and while he wasn't crying he was bummed. There weren't any words exchanged. I didn't even know what to say at that moment. We just stood together listening to the sounds of laughter. I really don't even know who was leaning on who. That's when our youth leader walked down to him and called him up. Apparently, Mr. Sean had vouched for him and he was allowed to participate with his group. Sweet redemption. These are the times when the groans we give to God are heard just as clear as the prayers. He knew what we needed at the moment and he sent Mr. Sean. Well played, God, well played.
There are several metaphors about parenting. I wont retread them here, nor am I eloquent enough to originate some new profound thought. One day my son will be driving and seeing his own mistaken Jupiter. The road ahead will be unclear, but the end result will be as beautiful as the rising full moon. Groans as prayers. Perhaps even a drive with his family, shoeless and excited to see the night sky, even knowing their parents are sometimes wrong, a full smile on their faces.
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