Qualified Warm-and-Fuzzy; update to Let-Him-Fail

REcap:

On Thursday I sent an email to Connor's principal asking:

Is it reasonable to ask that a teacher let me know before 8 weeks into a term that he is failing a subject

Is it reasonable to request that teachers post their assignments and test dates so I can help my child meet his obligations

Is "sink or swim", or "let him fail" an appropriate approach at this age where he's not intrinsically motivated by the topic and doesn't care if he fails?

That afternoon Connor got off his bus without an assignment he was supposed to have brought home the day before. "Get in the car, we're going to the school to get it." Wailing and gnashing of teeth.

When we walked into the building Ben, the principal, was at the top of the steps preparing to leave. But he seemed delighted to see us and spontaneously invited us into his office for "a chat". Connor went to get the assignment from his teacher while Ben and I got started.

He began to respond to my questions in the email, saying that "contractually, teachers are only required to report at midterm". He quickly added that he thought this was "lame." Before we could get to the substance of my questions Connor returned, and the rest of the conversation was between the two of them.

I like Ben. I think he gets kids, boys at least. I think his manner is respectful, and he is a person who can exude a "yes" vibe, even with a "no" message. I appreciated what he was telling Connor, even if Connor, with a 12-year-old's perspective, could not. Ben understood that much of what he was saying to Connor about choices he's making now affecting his future is lost on him. I liked the way he said it though.

When we left the school I felt better, but not entirely at ease. As I tried to pinpoint my disquiet I realized I'd come away without direct answers to my original three questions.

Subj; Thanks Ben

First:

The Future is definitely too precious to be trusted to the young! It is so hard to talk to a child from adult perspective, and knowing how child-perspective is receiving it ("blah blah blah"), but having to say it anyway. What a gulf.

Second:

I get the sense that "let him fail" isn't quite your philosophy?



Thank you again.
Excavator

Reply:

Excavator,

The future has to be trusted to the young. We just have to give them a whole lot of support before they take off and spread their wings. The hard part for me is knowing how many blah blah conversations it takes to turn into genuine understanding. It is so different for each kid, and that is great., but it can be tremendously frustrating when they don't see the answer that is right there in front of them. You guys are doing the right thing by keeping him going in the right direction. The alternative is uglier than the discomfort caused by pushing them.


Let them fall is not in my bag of tricks. I am for supporting them in being successful, while balancing that with gradual release of responsibility. Turning more and more over to Connor is the right thing to do, the question is how much support he needs before he takes over the show completely.


Thanks for working so hard to make Connor successful.

Ben

I was still bothered...does the "contractual agreement" mean that the answer to my first two questions is no, even if he said the "contractual agreement" is "lame?"

Subj: Recap
To: Ben Principal

I was thinking a little more about our conversation on Thursday, and just wanted to recap it a bit to make sure I'm understanding a few points correctly.

I think we're in agreement that time management is an emerging skill in middle school that is not fully in Connor's mastery yet. In addition to learning math, science, Spanish, he is learning how to keep track of his obligations and pace himself appropriately to do that. He is learning a process, as well as content.

I think the type of thinking this requires doesn't come naturally to him and he'd rather avoid it. I can sympathize, because organization is not my strength either...I can easily get muddled, overwhelmed, and lose track of things.

He's better at this skill than last year, but still requires assistance in managing it. I'm willing to give him that assistance (I don't particularly like it, because, as I said, it's a weakness of mine, but he needs to be properly supported as he develops this skill he'll need for the rest of his life).

To give him that assistance I've had to ask for the assistance of the teachers. I'm very aware that they have a lot of demands on their time, and I've had a feeling that they may feel my requests are excessive. This is why I asked you if it was reasonable to ask if they post their assignments and tests. Otherwise, I feel like I'm dealing with a moving target, if I don't have a clear idea of what Connor needs to do. You and I were just beginning to touch on this subject when Connor came in and the conversation shifted. But what I thought I heard you say is that contractually, the teachers are only required to report on a child's progress (or lack) at midterm. That tells me that it is not contractually “reasonable” to ask for more than this, or to ask you to ask them. Only being required to report at midterm leaves a pretty big gap and I’d hope that a teacher would want to let a parent know there’s a problem well before their contract mandates them to. This wasn’t the case with Ms. Spanish Teacher, or with Mr. Humanities Teacher last year.

My hope is that bolstered by this talk with you, I can work on the Connor end of things. He really is responsive to talks like this, and hopefully we have some momentum. It seems the key element is getting him to record his assignments in his planner. If I can get him to consistently do that piece that’ll help me with having solid knowledge of what he needs to do. And at least tools like Engrade give me a heads-up sooner if things aren’t going well. Hopefully I can build a strategy around this that will resolve this so I don’t need to come back to you.

Excavator

Reply:

Excavator,

I agree that Connor seems to be struggling with the organizational aspect of managing his homework without assistance. I think you have taken a good angle in making him check in with you. I think that holding a high standard for him is a good idea, and he will eventually either get it from practicing, or stop fighting it. I am not sure which is the case for Connor, but it is probably a touch of both, as it sounds like the routine is well established both at home and at school, but has not taken on significance to him without extrinsic motivation. In the end he will benefit from having to tackle this issue now, as it is a whole lot harder to have to deal with it in high school or college.

I understand your feelings on being in the dark about student performance. The contract states some base requirements. We have tried hard to go way above that to help communication with parents about grades. I get that you feel that communication did not work for you in the past. It is well within your right to request from a teacher an update on homework and performance in class. I think that at times it can seem like enabling behavior to put it on the teachers. I don't get that impression from what you are saying, just that you need to be on the same page so that you can make sure that Connor is following through on his end. We will try to do our best to support your efforts to help Connor.

I will be checking in with him weekly. I think that knowing we are all looking over his shoulder to make sure he is being successful will help increase his level of work completion. I would put some of this back on Connor. I would let him know what your expectations are and work with him to see what would feel for him like constructive support. He may come up with nothing new, but at least he would feel like you are listening to him. It is a tricky balance with kids his age, as they think a whole lot less of the importance of good study habits than they need to.


Regards,
Ben

Enabling?

I get that you feel that communication did not work for you in the past. It is well within your right to request from a teacher an update on homework and performance in class.

I do not feel that communication did not work for me in the past, it didn't.

I think that I understand now that the odd feeling that we're talking past each other means an indirect answer to my immediate questions. No, I am not reasonable in expecting that a teacher initiate discussion with me if my child isn't doing the work. I can ask for updates periodically, and so that is what I will need to do. Next week is parent-teacher conferences, and I'll see if we can agree on a process for doing this.

In effect, no, it is not reasonable to ask that the teachers post their tests and assignments consistently. They believe they shouldn't have to and that the child should just write it down in their planner each day. I can see the reasoning behind that, a sort of 'tough love' philosophy. So that makes my job a little harder, but I can work around it. Connor was failing Spanish before his teacher signed up with Engrade. Now that she's posting his performance I won't be surprised again. Besides posting performance results, oft-times there are hints of pending assignments. This isn't as solid an information base as teachers posting homework, but it's a source.

Most important is going to be focusing on Connor writing down his assignments each day in class. I've told him that this piece is the responsibility that is solely within his control, and I will be checking his planner each day. I will help him with figuring out what to do with that information--planning, coordinating, and pacing himself toward its accomplishment.

So hopefully we can work around the teacher reluctance with the tools we have. Hopefully I'll have a cooperative, if not altogether willing or enthusiastic partner in Connor.

And I'm glad that let him fail is not in Ben's "bag of tricks".

I'm going to play! Perfect Moments Monday

There's a kind of snarky perfection to this--I'm not sure if that's the intent of the perfect moments theme, but here goes:

My boys are 4 years apart in age, 8 and 12. My younger has adhd, which intensifies behaviors that (I often suspect intentionally) irritate the older. The older is easily irritated, making himself the most tempting target. I remember an episode on the Simpsons, where some sanctimonious adult announces, "I will just now turn my back and bend over and tie my shoe", and does so, turning up the irresistible target of wriggling buttocks. The tension this creates in the children is unbearable, and they've nearly survived it without incident when the adult announces he's going to now tie his OTHER shoe. The rocks are launched from the slingshot.

Connor is that sanctimonious adult.

The boys can go from 0 to 80 in nothing flat. Sample conversation: Scott: "The sun goes this way...around the earth..." Connor: "No, the earth goes around the sun--DUMMY!!!" And they're off. Scott: "Well, you're stupid!" Connor: "Mom, Scott just called me stupid!" And I'm remembering my mom's remark from the past: "I want to knock your two heads together."

We were on a backpacking trip this past weekend because they had a holiday from school Friday. Neither wanted to go and they complained bitterly.

We were going to walk over to some low cliffs to watch the sunset and the boys were impatient to go. I'd dipped some water from the lake and had it on our little stove to boil. I wanted to purify it, and then let it cool overnight so we'd have cold drinking water in the morning. So we were waiting on the pot. To pass the time I asked Connor if he knew what the phrase, "A watched pot never boils" means.

He said, "Yes. If you're waiting for something it takes forever. But, one saying I've never gotten is, 'People who live in glass houses shouldn't throw stones.' I don't get that. Is that like saying people who don't brush their teeth get cavities?"

All of the most perfect examples of hypocrisy I've ever heard or experienced vanished and left me with a lame example: "Well, it's more like someone criticizing people for sneezing really loud and then sneezing loudly themselves. It's about criticizing someone for something that you do yourself."

Much later we're in the car on the way home, Gary driving. I've already threatened the boys several times that we're going to take the next exit and sit in the car until they tell me they can control their bickering because it's not safe to drive with all the yelling in back. There's a sullen silence reigning when Gary said, "Man, that guy has big ears!"

"What?"

"The driver in front of us. He has huge ears."

"How can you see that...oh!" When the light angle was just right this driver's ears were elephantine. Even several car lengths ahead and around a neck rest we could see them. Gary kept talking, "I don't think I've ever seen ears that big."

I couldn't help it, and started to laugh.

Connor was scandalized. "That's really MEAN of you guys! How would you like it if someone behind us was laughing at Dad's bald spot?"

We rounded a corner and the autumn light illuminated the inside of the car ahead again.

"There they are." said Gary. It took a moment to realize what "they" were, and this time I howled. I hadn't laughed like that in ages, with such complete abandon.

Connor spoke up again. "You guys are so mean! I can't believe you!"

I said, "Connor, we wouldn't laugh if we were in the same room as him. He can't hear us." Then, inspiration seized me: "I wouldn't punctuate any comment I'd make with, 'DUMMY!' Now that would be mean.'" I paused for effect, then, "Connor, people who live in glass houses shouldn't throw stones!"

Way to drive home a metaphor! He got it, too. Eyes dropped, "Awwww....be quiet..."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

But I have a runner up for that perfect moment. Last night I took the boys to a matinee our local theater puts on as a school benefit. They were running "Night At the Museum, Battle of the Smithsonian". The premise of the original "Night At the Museum" is a night guard at the American Museum of Natural History in New York City discovers that the exhibits come to life during the night. A magical ancient Egyptian tablet animates them. One of those exhibits is a mischievous, trouble-causing capuchin monkey.

The sequel finds the exhibits moved to the Smithsonian to be archived. Due to the capuchin's having stolen the Egyptian tablet all the exhibits in the greater institute (housed in 19 museums along the Washington Mall) come to life , including the first monkey in space (a capuchin) who happens to meet face to face with its counterpart from New York. There is a scene where the monkeys are slapping each other while the Ben Stiller character tries vainly to stop them, getting slapped himself and slapping them as well. Now THAT was a perfect image of my boys, verbally "slapping" each other, and me, trying to make it stop. I whispered to Connor, "That's US!"

boyshit

I can't leave them alone for a minute. This includes the supposed adult.

SO, Saturday before last Gary took the boys backpacking. I might have gone on that trip, but I'd agreed to close the dojo at nights while the owners were away. I welcomedmade the best of the alone time.

It came at a price.

Connor burst in early Sunday afternoon. The (damn) dog got the first (effusive) greeting, and he'd barely said hello to chopped-liver me before he's asking if he can have "a thingy". "What's a 'thingy?'" "Dad?" Silence and sheepish grins. "Well?"

He wants a Pl.ayboy magazine.

He wants us to buy it for him. "Dad said to ask you."

I glare at Gary. "You let it go this far? You didn't just say no and stop this thing from the outset?"

In reply, Gary goes into the office and digs out the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit issue. When it came in the spring I'd looked through it and decided it wasn't appropriate for a (then) 11 year old. It's not the coy nudity (in this issue some of the swimsuits are painted on), it's the blatant intent to be provocative. I'd bypassed Connor and gave it to Gary asking him what he thought of it. It languished in his office until last Sunday. Various pictures are now torn out and taped to Connor's bedroom walls.

The question isn't whether or not he can have Playb.oy magazine. It's the discussion of why not. He's already anticipating my saying no. And he already has his own idea of the nature of my objection. I want him to really hear me, rather than have my thoughts pressed into the mold of some stereotype and dismissed. Of course I have no control over what he does with my words. But it's a good exercise in coming to my own sense of internal clarity about it.

Part of that is to have a better sense of what this means to him. Although he's 12 and I suppose it should be obvious that it's about seeking the visual sexual experience I still wonder if that's too simple. When I question I get the 'well, duh' look from him. I'm trying to probe the origins of this conversation between him and Gary for clues. (And where was Scott while this talk was taking place?)

Connor is awaiting my "answer".

One thing I'm considering is substituting some sort of book of photographic art; something with less focus on self-gratification. My friend Doug is an artist with a reverential approach to the human body. His portfolio of figure studies is very beautiful. That could be a good place to start.

My cousin guest-blogged on my other cousin (her big sister)'s site a week or so ago about boys this age and their rising hormones. It was a very funny post and involved "sticky socks". I worry wonder if I might have some in my near future.

And in the meantime a curveball has been thrown from the Scott end of things:

For reasons that will become obvious I'm only going to address the kids involved by letters.

Today after swim class I was going to take Scott to pick up a friend. The boy's dad and I had prearranged a hand-off so J could come home with us to spend the night. Scott was thrilled. As we climbed in the car to head to the rendezvous he asked a question I was only half-listening to (I have got to quit doing that). Something about putting 'junk' in a mailbox being against the law. I assured him that it was indeed against the law and he kept talking as I zoned out until my attention was arrested by him saying something about 'kicking me out'. I wondered if he'd done something to get in trouble and it was only now surfacing, so I said, "You got kicked out of what?" "The Teenaged Bad-Boy's Club! Because Z said I had to put junk in a mailbox to be in the club and I said, 'NO!'--and you know what? I'm GLAD they kicked me out of their club! I don't want to be in that club! I don't want to put junk in a mailbox! It's not right to put trash in a mailbox!"

Well. Here was another reminder of how Scott processes events and information. While I am clueless, things slip in to his consciousness where he works and works them. I have no idea until something like this emerges, fully assembled. This had to have happened some time ago, and only now it's revealed. And I was so pleased. This seemed like such a leap in Self formation. I told him very strong people know what they want to do and can stay true to it under threat. I remarked that this would serve him well, the ability to withstand being bullied into something he doesn't want to do. I told him I couldn't wait to tell his father, and Scott said, "and I can't wait to tell J." Z is a mutual friend of Scott and J's, and like many threesomes, the alliances shift.

It seemed like a normal commute with 2 boys in the car. Excited to see each other for the first time in weeks they spoke loudly, getting louder as sometimes their words would collide and they'd vie to be heard. When they got deafening I tuned in for a moment and realized Scott was telling J about Z. "I was so mad at him I wanted to kill him." J: "But then you would go to jail. Z would go to jail too." (I wonder if they were discussing the trash-in-mailbox story.) Scott: "Z says there's no such thing as jail for children, but there is. It's called, "Juvenile". He says there's no such thing as "Juvenile" but he's wrong." J: "One of my favorite books is called {excavator can't remember } . And there's a children's prison in there and it's really bad." Scott jumped on top of those words to say Z had threatened to kick him out of the Teenage Badboys Club.

Then J said, "Z told me that if I sucked his penis he'd let me be the leader of the Badboy's club. And so I did, then he didn't let me."

Holy.

Shit.

Did I just hear that? Or did I just think I heard it?

But then J again said, "He lied to me. I sucked his penis and then he didn't let me be the leader."

Spoken very matter-of-factly. His main concern was that Z had broken the agreement. He could just as well have said, "Z promised me I'd be the leader of the club if I did 10 push-ups and then he broke his promise."

Scott said, "That's really gay."

J: "What's gay?"

S: "When one guy sucks another's...you know; or sucks his balls."

J: "Welllll, uh"

Clearly he'd had no sense of stigma about his broken transaction with Z, and now I worried that Scott might unwittingly be planting the seed for that: the tree of knowledge, the conclusion of being naked and ashamed. (Believe me, it was bad enough hearing those words come out of Scott's mouth, which I attribute to him having an older brother. It's a three-fold-bad: (1) planting a seed of shame for J, (2) defining 'gay' in such knowing terms, (3) using 'gay' as a pejorative. Oh man, we've got a lot to talk about...). I decided to involve myself in the conversation to point out that children often experiment and it doesn't mean they are 'gay' (then as I said that I realized I was stumbling into the sticky area of seeming to imply something wrong with being gay). The boys didn't notice my attempt; they kept on talking, and so I asked casually, "Hey, J, did you ever tell your mom and dad about that?" "No" he said. That "no" told me he had a sense that this would be different from telling mom and dad that Z had made him do 10 push-ups.


I'm just driving home from a park and a bomb lands in my lap. I have to decide what to do about this, and it's a whole can of worms.

The first worm is the topic of childhood sexuality. Even among 'enlightened' parents it's not a neutral subject. Z, by the way, is a younger child than either Scott or J, but he is definitely an alpha kid. He's extremely competitive and he plays to win. So it doesn't surprise me that he would use dominating tactics, but the possibility that this has bled into the sexual realm is worrisome.

Still, should childhood sexuality be so loaded? It's treated very differently from other realms of child relating. Generally adults give kids freedom to work through other issues on their own, but sexuality seems to be in a category by itself. If J had said that Z had told him he had to do the pushups in order to be the leader of the club, I wouldn't feel any responsibility to say something to the parents. What, really, is different about sexuality?

Those sort of abstract questions I can ponder on my own. I don't think they make a difference in the course of action I see before me:

First, I don't have any sense that J was saying other than the truth. It just came out so innocently, so devoid of overlay that it rings true. And this is why I feel protective of him; if handled poorly it could cause some confusion that could be very difficult to undo--given the fraught relationship our culture has with sex.

Second, a 7 year old boy allegedly used a sexual act as a condition of giving another boy privilege of membership. Maybe Z didn't understand this as a sexual act the way adults do. It's easy to read exploitative intent into it. Still, he had to have gotten the idea from somewhere. I don't know that young children independently come up with an idea of having someone suck their penis, let alone make it a condition for something. It seems more likely he got this from an outside source. His parents need to be aware of this in case the source was exploitive. Another child? An adult, teenager?

J's parents need to know, so they can guide the way he may come to regard this. Though the incident seems devoid of any connotations for him now, a seed has been planted and when our culture teaches him more, he will need a way to help him process it. Scott's response is a case in point. I certainly need to find a way to learn more about the lens through which Scott is looking at the world.

Trying to maintain clarity of intent in discussing this with the boys' parents, now that is going to be a challenge.

Feeling very old

Feeling very, very old. Wishing I could have a vodka with Aunt Becky. The inside of my head is still ringing and I'm reduced to listening to the echoes.

Hoo boy. The morning began with Connor asking for a bath and I was all-to-glad to comply, to keep the wounds clean. Well, he became increasingly uncomfortable and began to yell in pain and demand that I kill him. He had seemed to be doing so well that I'd not thought he'd need medication first. So I gave him half a hydrocodone and waited with him for the eternity before it took effect. He yelled nearly the entire time. It amazes me that he didn't wake my younger son, or that the neighbors didn't call Children's Services.

Twenty minutes after administering the medication the pain abruptly shut off. It was like turning off a faucet. He loved me again and could tolerate me rinsing his shoulder with lukewarm water. He asked me to read, and so I continued from The Freedom Writer's Diaries: (How a Teacher and 150 Teens Used Writing to Change Themselves and the World Around Them) That's part of my bid to interest him more in reading, by appealing to his maturing sense of fairness and justice. I was so jangled by what we'd just been through together that I kept crying as I read the entries of these high school students.

But we were at peace for hours. I researched online, trying to find the best way to manage this and was a little confused between the traditional approach, and using the transparent dressings that you can leave on. For days.

I called the pediatrician's advice line and they called in a prescription for Silvadene ointment. They clearly advocated for the old school method. But that was going to mean needing to handle the wound twice a day, and clean it as well as covering it. I knew after the experience of the telfa pads sticking that this would be a tough sell. But I was still on the fence.

I went to the pharmacy, taking Scott. They had the Silvadene, but no dressings that were large enough to completely cover the shoulder wound. The pharmacist said the Beaverton Pharmacy might carry it. He was kind enough to call to see how late they were open. In the meantime I got a call from Connor saying his wounds were beginning to 'burn' again. I'd medicated him before leaving, so that was perplexing. Rather than go straight to the other pharmacy I went home where he seemed to feel better.

I made a decision to commit to the transparent dressing. Drove over to the other pharmacy and bought one large sheet for the shoulder, smaller for the elbow and hip. He called when I was nearly home and was clearly in distress again.

I really hope that the cause for pain was that the wound had begun to dry out. The reason I hope this is because that has now been addressed. But he was truly beside himself while it was being addressed. It made the morning look mild by comparison. I had to look online to find instructions for applying the Silvadene and tegaderm and he was shouting the entire time. He was louder and nearly hysterical for at least 15 minutes after I applied it. I broke down and medicated him again, even though it had only been 3 hours since the prior time. Scott and I had gotten a movie, "Airport: The Movie" and it was running. About the time of the bar scene where the women are fighting and one is flung down the length of the bar so her head hits the juke box and "Staying Alive" starts playing he noticed it.

Perhaps I should have had him watching it before applying the dressings. Or, what I REALLY should have done was checked my e-mail because my friend sent me some research that says that children can tolerate pain better while they're playing video games! I felt so helpless in my attempts to engage his mind to reduce his suffering even as he was in pain. He was frantic.

Anyway, the wounds are dressed, covered with appropriate healing ointment and a clear protective cover. I can leave it for the 3-5 days it's supposed to adhere. The wounds will stay moist, and with any luck what happened this afternoon will not be repeated.

I don't think either he or I could stand it.

And I really want to stop giving him the codeine. I feel vaguely like an unfit mother.

"That man was a bastard!!!!" (part 4)

Timberline Lodge was having a barbeque, and I tried to tempt the boys. They would have none of it though, loudly proclaiming their preference to leave for Kahneeta. Consequently they were hungry and a bit peckish when we arrived about an hour before we could check into our room. So we ate in the restaurant there (and it was quite good!) and gazed longingly at the pool below.

A curious thing about Kahneeta is its hidden rough edges. The lodge is constructed basically in the shape of an obtuse triangle. All the rooms face east, with a good number overlooking...the resort's sewage treatment plant! Our room wasn't one of those, but we did have a misstep with the one elevator that serviced an entire wing of 5 floors. There is no indicator light so one knows what level they're on. Consequently we got off on level 3 when we thought we were on level 2. Since we'd already waited a very long time for the lift (full off luggage carts and people) we decided to just hoof our stuff down the steps.

The room is spacious with a balcony overlooking the desert hills. The boys went out to swim with Gary while I checked for an internet connection. Found that it's not available in the rooms, only in the lobby. When I was ready to head for the pool I noticed a sign on the towel shelf requesting guests to not take towels out to the pool. I noted that Gary had taken them. The sign also said that towels were available at the front desk and at the "Fitness Center". I took the stairs and then realized I'd overshot the pool deck and because of the layout had to walk all the way around the perimeter to get back to the access. I went to the front desk to request a towel and was told I had to get them at the fitness center. "Right by the vending machines". Passed the empty vending machines, found the towels, back to the pool. Blocking the entry was a family, the apparent head of it saying to one of its members: "I thought you had a fucking hamburger". One of the members reached out to guide him out of the way when they saw me waiting.

Perhaps the casino doesn't attract the most classiest of clientele. I think it was the disregard for the presence of others that bothered me. From the unsteadiness of his gait as I later saw him walking toward their spot laden with beverages I surmised the drinking had been pretty steady. Later I noted them throwing each other into the pool fully dressed.

But, for the moment I wanted one of those beverages. A marguerita would taste quite good. So I retraced his steps in to the bar. There was a woman behind the bar, but from her steadfast avoidance of eye contact it was clear that she wasn't there to pour drinks. I joined a woman who'd clearly been waiting a while. Presently the harried-looking bar-tender walked by pushing a food cart. When it was my turn I asked if I could use my room key to charge it to my room. He wanted to know my room number. It wasn't on the key card, but I fortunately remembered it. He consulted his computer and said I had to make some arrangement with the front desk for room-card privileges. As I had no cash and it was a long walk to the room I returned to the poolside empty-handed.

Back at the room I was lobbying the family for a walk. At the front desk I'd been handed a trails map and thought it might be nice to do just before sunset. Overt resistance from Connor, and this time I insisted. "Look, we've been doing things the way you've wanted to do them and sometimes you've got to reciprocate." So there was an agreement that there would be a walk, but no one was moving off the bed or turning off the TV. In exasperation I proclaimed I was going to go by myself at which point Gary rousted them.

From our balcony it appeared that we could walk over toward the stables and access the trailhead, but instead the grounds dead-ended at a steep slope on the far corner. As we were finding another way around Scott suddenly had to use the toilet. We were close to the fitness room and opted to use the toilet in there. The door was locked, but the toilet vacated shortly after, but Scott decided he needed that moment for a drink at the drinking fountain. I decided to take the opportunity for myself, and while using it there was a knock. Assuming it was Scott I said, "You'll have to wait a moment. (You lost your turn)" There was a hard knock, and then a very loud slap. "Stop that!" I exclaimed.

When I opened the door, there he was, very upset. He said that it hadn't been him that hit the door, it had been a man. And, "That man was a bastard!" "Scott, I don't want to hear you use that word again. It's not appropriate for a seven year old." He used the toilet and we walked out into the fitness center. "Dad", said Scott, "A man hit the bathroom door while Mom was inside. Why did he do that? That man was a bastard!" "Scott..."

Into the lobby of the lodge. Scott's telling Gary the entire story, and ending with the refrain, "That man was a bastard!" At this point I was thoroughly exasperated. "Scott, I'm going to take you into that bathroom there (the lobby restroom) and wash your mouth out with soap!" (I've never made that threat before. Odd to hear it coming out of my mouth.) "I swear, if it was not ok for you to say that a minute ago, it's not ok now either! Now I mean it, I don't want to hear it again."

Outside the lodge, headed toward what looked like a trail. Scott is furious with me and demanding that I apologize. In defiance he walks up on a curb, which he slips off of and falls, skinning his ankle a bit. When he saw the spot of blood he began to sob that he needed a band-aid.

It's becoming clear to me by now that we're not having any kind of a walk that night, but I have hope that we still might be able to walk up the hill behind the hotel. I manage to get him to accept that if it's still bleeding when we return I'll get him a band-aid from the front desk.

Headed up the hill his thoughts returned to the bathroom experience, and his need to tell the tale. I explain to him that he can say he's angry with the man, that the man behaved poorly, even was stupid, but he cannot call the man a bastard. We're up on a rim rock looking down on the lodge and I'm nervous because both he and Connor are wanting to stand up on the rock and there's a long drop in front of them. I can trust that Connor can keep a presence of mind and awareness of his position, but I don't have that trust for Scott. However, Scott feels if Connor has gone an inch higher than himself than it's unjust for him to have not achieved the exact elevation. And he can't rest inside until he's satisfied himself that he has done this.

So, we're starting down and a Scott's feet slip from under him and he lands on his butt and hands. A small piece of skin on his palm has peeled back and so we stand for a while with our arms around each other. To my surprise he removes the piece of skin and allows me to pour a little water over it. But it's clear our walk is over.

At least all thoughts of bastards are driven from his mind.

Swimming Lessons

Today is week 2 of daily swim lessons for Scott.
I think his level of progress at this point in his life as compared with Connor's may highlight the extent to which he is hampered by attention issues. This even in accounting for the normal differences of temperaments and abilities in siblings.

One of the tasks I set myself is to learn more about ADHD, and the nature of the diagnosis. He scored high on a behavior checklist. So is a diagnosis confirmed? I need to consider whether it would be useful to have the consultation of a child psychologist, or perhaps a neuropsychiatrist. Then I need to find out if our medical insurance will cover such a consult. I can't remember, I never can remember, our password for our online account to verify coverage. It's amazing what an obstacle this can be. This means I need to steel myself for a lengthy time on hold. I need to make sure the boys are occupied and don't require my attention. I need refreshments, fortifications. I need to get my ducks in a row for questions to ask once someone comes on the line. When my boys are occupied I'm reluctant to let that window pass doing chores. I want to be blogging, or writing in my journal, catching up on the news. So when there is a good opportunity to take care of phone-calls-for-information, that is in conflict with my good opportunity for some Time For Myself.

Another task I've set for myself is to look into medication. His pediatrician says there are three classes: the "straterra's", the "ritalin's" and the "adderalls". Nice that there are only three. I need to examine the mechanisms of how they work, the positives and drawbacks, the potential side effects. I need to seek out blogs of parents of children with the diagnosis and receive the wisdom of their experience. I need to talk with friends I know who are teachers.

With schools on their summer vacation I've lapsed in my resolve to accumulate this knowledge so I have a footing to base some decisions on. I've given myself a break since the need is less apparent, and less urgent, with him out of school.

Interesting how predictable it is that mentioning Scott having attention issues will elicit the admonition: "Don't medicate him!" My feeling is that it doesn't serve Scott well to oppose medicating out of ideology--it is a requirement that I research it first and see where the information takes me. If I'm persuaded that medication is the best route for Scott, then he shall have it.

When Connor was nearly 7 he was jumping off the high dive at our local pool in St. Louis. He was independent, safe to wander the pool grounds at will. He had had the skills for a year to swim in the deep end of the pool.

Scott, at nearly 7 is repeating his second level of swim classes. No matter how many times he is reminded he is not able to bring his arms out of the water in a full circle for more than about 3 cycles. He can't remember to keep his tummy up and his chin back when on his back. He is fascinated with how well he can see underwater when he has the goggles on, and so often when the teacher is talking he has his head underwater, looking around. Given the person that he is, it seems he requires a narrow set of circumstances where he can learn, and these are not present in this class. His teacher is excellent, easy-going and flexible, which is a huge plus. However, there is a child who requires much hand-holding and nurturing or she will dissolve into tears. A good deal of class time was spent on day 2 in such hand-holding. Another circumstance that isn't favorable is the proximity of another active, impulsive boy. Scott gravitates toward these children, and they toward him. Then they form a volatile combination because their attention becomes fixed on each other. Their priority is not to learn from the teacher: it is to best each other. So while the teacher is talking they are jockeying for position. Rather than swim across the pool, they watch the other's progress. If the other is pulling ahead, they will stand and leap forward in order to pass the other, leapfrogging across the pool in this way. It is all about winning. If one is behind he will claim he is 'not playing' as the other gloats over his 'victory.' If the teacher reprimands one, the other will taunt, "HA-ha!" When the teacher is holding the needy child's hand, reassuring, cajoling, the boys are splashing water at each other, jostling, getting reprimanded.

I can see where other children in the group (the rest are girls) have made the connection between what they do with their bodies and how that propels them across the water. I can see they are beginning to build on this and refine it; how they are gaining mastery. I can see how Scott has not yet made that connection of how to make his body engage with the water and pull him through, and how he can enhance this.

That was my reminder today that I need to follow through on my goals to get the information I need to make some decisions in the attention arena. Back to the Harrison Bergeron analogy--assuming that what for most of us would be easily ignorable extraneous input is equivalent to the jarring alarms and interruptions for a person with ADHD, reducing or removing such alarms would be very welcome for a person trying to think. Perhaps medication does just that. Perhaps the greater wrong would be in withholding something that can mute the strength of distraction.

I also recommended to Lizzie, his teacher, that she put as many girls between these boys as possible.

Day 4 or why I hate kids

Back up to last week where I made an agreement with Connor: we can adjust his bedtime from 8:30 to 9:00 if he can demonstrate that he's handling it well: that is, no adverse changes to his overall mood. With a little more discussion we adjusted 9:00 to 9:30 meaning his teeth are brushed by 9 and he can read in bed til 9:30.

The experiment seems to be going well; his mood is good and he's getting his work done for school.

Last night Scott's temperature spiked again so I resigned myself to no school today either.

He woke me early this morning with coughing. Got him a drink of water and some cough medicine, nearly asleep when I heard some noise downstairs. I got up to investigate and found Connor at the TV, preparing to play a video game. 5 a.m. "Back to bed!" "But Mo-o-o-om! Why!" Fortunately it was a rhetorical question and he didn't wait for an answer because my mind was turning: "Why not? Is there really any harm that can come from it?" Video games at 5 am seem wrong in the way that cola in the morning seems wrong, but is there a rational basis for that? "But I'm awake now!" he wailed. "Then read a book". Why should reading a book at 5 am be better than video games?

I go back to sleep with this uneasy dilemma. I got up to find him at the computer around 7:15. He said, "I got up at 5:30." As I walk past the dining room table I see that the Spanish homework I'd insisted he finish last night was in fact unfinished. There was a section with phrases that were scrambled that he was to decode in Spanish, and then their English translation. He clearly had not read the instructions and had merely written the scrambled word on the line--this on the few lines he'd completed. "Connor! You haven't finished this." Voice getting shrill for a 10 year old boy: "I can't do it! I don't know how! It's impossible!" In the meantime I've reasoned that the phrases are probably just scrambled versions of the translations he'd already written above--and I was able to confirm that fairly quickly. So I pointed this out to him and he's still loudly claiming that he can't do it. Scott's sleeping in the adjoining room and I really want him to stay asleep. I'm trying to compose an email for a friend. Connor bitterly complaining. I'm annoyed that he is not even attempting to push his mind forward a bit to meet this challenge and I say, "I don't even speak Spanish and I could figure it out."

He hates me. He wishes I was dead. He wishes he was dead. He wishes he didn't have to take Spanish. I've humiliated him and now he's angry. And now I'm compounding it by telling him that this is evidence the later bedtime isn't working: because he doesn't have the reserves to cope with his frustration. NOW I've made him mad by telling him he's stupid because he couldn't figure out his exercise when I could, and then when he gets mad I threaten to take something away from him.

He's done a pretty good job of describing a negative feedback cycle, except he's missing the seed kernel at the hub: he hadn't fulfilled his homework obligation. I ask him what would have happened had I walked past the table and saw that his homework was complete: Nothing, we wouldn't be having this conversation. Now he's a 'hobo', he's a 'loser' and I don't love him and never did. I like Scott better, and he's too depressed to go to school and can he have a day off? NO? "Scott gets to stay home and have a good time, and all I get to do is go to school and do homework and SLEEP!" He starts 'coughing'. Says he feels weak. I take his temperature. He reads it. "What's it say?" "100". "Let me see it." "I turned it off". "Turn it back on and take it again and this time let me read it." 98.2. He wishes he was sick.

And so on until I could kiss the bus driver, run out in my ratty pajamas and dirty hair and KISS him I'm so grateful he's taking this monster away.

I return to my email. Moments later Scott comes roaring out of the bedroom. Flings himself into the too-tight chair with me. "I had a bad dream!" "It sounds like a doozie." "I had a little brother, and he wouldn't BEHAVE. He wasn't following the hot-tub rules. He put his head underwater. He dumped his drink and his ice in it! AND YOU DIDN'T CARE!!!" Punctuated by hitting me. Yeah, I'm accountable for my behavior in his dreams, too.

I am a little stymied about the personal responsibility teaching moment though. It's as clear to Connor that the morning conflict was generated by me as it is clear to me that his troubles were ultimately self-generated: he hadn't done his homework. To point this out to him garners a blank stare as if I'd just told him that 2 + 2= 5. Or results in claims that I've 'rubbed it in', I've "made" him mad, and he's a total failure as a human being. I suppose there's a place in his development that's incomplete: where he can separate his worth as a person from the recognition that his actions and inactions have consequences. And that being called to account is not the same as being denigrated. And it's futile to try to lecture or shame that realization into him. Still, when I'm face to face with such a situation I feel like he's telling me that 2 + 2=5, and he really believes it.

Funny, there are a lot of adults who never get it either.

Ah, that's why I love to complain. If I do it right, really name the elements of my discomfort, I find the humor. And I don't hate kids nearly so much.

There should be a patron saint for complainers.