Okay, so now the first draft is done. Bring on the list of reasons - excuses really - for why all work on the novel will come to a standstill. Today's excuse: The Mom Thing
I had to wake early to ride to work with MathMan and attend Nate's Freshman Orientation. He's going to go to MathMan High School for reasons practical and otherwise. I went to show that I'm making at least the minimum effort of engaging in his education. A couple of months from now, I'll point back at this morning and shout "I do too care! Why else did I go to that meeting?"
And he'll say "The Orientation in August?"
And I'll say, "Was that it? Yes. See? I care!"
The reality is that MathMan will be more closely tied to Nate during the next four years. We've kind of planned it that way. It's not that I don't care, but we've reached the point where what these kids are learning, at least in the math and science subject areas, are way beyond my limited abilities. I'll be here to offer moral support, pack nutritious lunches and to remind Nate not to backseat his dad too much on during those hour long commutes.
The program reminded me why I'm glad Nate is attending such a diverse school. The school -grades nine through twelve - is public and serves a mixture of middle, working and struggling classes, black, white and Latino populations. The staff is reflects the student population.
That school belongs to everyone.
While the administrators and staff demonstrated pride and excitement about the high-achieving students, there was a real effort to encourage all parents to help their students achieve. "Whether you see your student going to college or trade school or something different, it's never too soon to start them thinking about how the decisions they make now will affect their future."
It's pretty simple advice, but oh so important. It's probably not so very different from the messages being repeated in every school offering orientation in the coming weeks. It was good to hear even though this is our second time around the high school thing.
I tried to remember the messages given when Chloe was a high school freshman. Five years can wipe out a lot of memory, I guess, because, while I'm sure the messages were similar, they didn't stay with me. Part of that might be due to the expectations a parent has for his or her children. We had high expectations for Chloe, but her personal expectations were even higher. With Nate and Sophia we've been more relaxed and it shows. They aren't bad students, but they don't freak out about the occasional B or C either.
Being who I am, I had to poke fun at the extensive clothing restrictions schools now have. I understand that as a society we've really let our standards slip, but some of this is just too silly, too let's take ourselves a little too seriously.
"I certainly hope they don't include boobs in this 'no sagging' rule," I stage whispered to MathMan. "Hey! Maybe I could get some of those zip ties for my knockers, cinch them back up into place. It's cheaper than surgery."
You just never know what's going to make MathMan's face go all ashen.
On the way home, Nate and I discussed the morning's programs and expectations. I asked him what he expected from himself.
"My goal is to graduate with G.P.A. higher than Chloe's," he replied.
Behold the awesome power of Sibling Rivalry. The bonus is that once he's said this, he can't go back. She'll make his life a misery.
How about you? Did you/do you set high expectations for yourself? Do you need to use Nate's orientation for an excuse for not getting something done? Do you need a nap? Or maybe some zip ties?
About food I like Rolos better when they are soft. And it's true. I reach a point in any kind of stressful event - be it mild or intense - when I flat out need chocolate.
It is a good thing that we don't live near a Big Boy restaurant. I would either get sick of their food or be keeling over from tartar sauce poisoning.
About family The Actor/Ninja likes Hank Williamsmusic and my family's ears don't bleed when I tuned the radio to bluegrass as we drove through some of mountainous Tennessee. It just seemed appropriate.
Three years is too long between visits with family, especially when we can make the drive in seven hours.
The Big R still doesn't appreciate my sense of humor. See, she has this annoying habit of asking us "Are you still working?" Intellectually, I know she's just making conversation. Let's face it, beyond work and the kids, she really doesn't want to delve too deeply into my life and interests and she knows it. Still, this question of are you still working drives me up the fucking wall. What? Did I win the lottery and no one told me? Did my real family - the insanely wealthy ones - finally step forward to claim me? Or worse - is she implying that I'm some kind of lay-about who only works when desperate? I've got news for her - I am always desperate. Hence the job. Anyway, I smarted off to her when she asked that question. To be more accurate, I used my nephew to smart off to The Big R. I'd predicted to him before her arrival, that within two minutes of seeing him, she'd ask that very question of him, too. Poor kid. As it turns out, I was correct. I was the very model of maturity. I pointed it out via gestures and fall on the floor laughter behind her back. Ah, just like old times. Except, she turned around. "Pick yourself up off the floor, you ninny. What is your problem?" she asked me.
I wiped the tears of laughter from my eyes and stammered just like the fifteen year old I used to be "I-I-I told him you'd ask that idiotic question. What do you think? He's all the sudden discovered the money tree? Of course he's still working!"
Another thing I learned? The Big R is still quite capable of delivering a withering stare.
And she wasn't kidding about saving humiliating photos of mefor when I was "older." I am apparently officially "older" in The Big R's estimation. Must be the gray hair. Which is striking, but not in an Oh my heavens! Did you mean to do that to your head? kind of way like some of the hairdos in those photographs. And have mercy! to the clothing. I will never be accused of being well-dressed. (Click that link at your own risk.)
MathMan is pretty dang cool. He was patient as I flitted about the class reunion. He took a lot of photos both then and when we were with my family and I was glad that even though he's only met some of my former classmates and their spouses once or never, he deftly struck up conversations with everyone.
The Royal Pains have no sense of humor about me jumping off this bridge when I was sixteen years old. They're just a couple of humorless, self-interested fertilized eggs about it, in my opinion. It's not me they care about. It's just the fact that had that jump not turned out fine, they might not exist. They don't fool me.
About place Time is a wonderful change agent, at least when it comes to attitude. As much as I hated it sometimes when I was younger, I was really lucky to grow up in a place not unlike Mayberry.
For the same reasons it used to drive me a little crazy, I can now appreciate Rising Sun as the place where I spent my childhood. There's something really nice about the familiarity of the people and the place.
Our library was a Carnegie Library. *Note: We did not have crap piled in front of our house. And the garage was a garage, not a room. We used the garage as a place to pile our junk.
You're still wondering about the class reunion, aren't you? Well, what can I say? It was so much fun - even better than I expected. It was loud and hot and thank goodness, there was none of that awkward award stuff or ice-breaker games. We sipped our drinks, swapped stories of our then and now and just enjoyed the moments together. They went by too quickly.
I learned some new things there, too.....
(1) Other people remember things about you that you may have forgotten. For example: I was an insensitive clod who walked up to two guys in the school hallway and invited only one of them to participate in a "sexy legs" contest that must have been part of some fund-raiser or something that the cheerleaders were doing. (Yes, I was a cheerleader.) Anyway, the young man who wasn't invited reminded me of my social faux pas. I didn't remember it, but both guys did and with obvious clarity. I apologized. And I assure you, I would never make that same mistake today. If you're reading this, Steve B., I am sorry. Next time there is a sexy legs contest, I promise, you're the first man I'll ask to show us what he's got.
(2) Funny people stay funny. The same people who made me laugh in school made me laugh at the party. A lot. At least this time it didn't result in detention.
(3) Some people don't want to be blogged about. So I won't blog about them here and repeat their name, which is so nice you have to say it twice. I will also stop telling stories involving the zoo and songs by The Who. I also won't mention how they gigged me good on something stupid I said during our Senior Trip (again, something I'd forgotten), nor will I make a peep about sweat pants or tans. And I especially won't mention the John Phillips Sousa Award because that might make another person fret.
(4) I suck at staying in touch with people. I let the minutia of my life crowd out friendships and contacts I value. For those of you who came from large schools or big places, it's hard to explain, but there's something uniquely satisfying about having a shared history with people. At least for me. And yes, I count my siblings and parents in that equation, as well.
(5) I squeeze butts. I do, it's true. And I wasn't even drinking when I did it. And you should have seen the looks on my sister's and brother's-in-law faces when I did it. It's like they never had their butts squeezed or something. And I won't tell you about the other butts I squeezed. A woman has to have some mystery about her......
(6) Most of us end up somewhere in the middle. There were not wildly successful millionaires and no one who showed up was completely down and out.
(7) Every visit with my parents reminds me that I must take better care of myself physically and emotionally. They seem older than they are. Maybe it's just me, but I hate to see my mom hobbling and so keenly aware of her tummy issues all the time. I can't help but think that some of what ails them could have been avoided. And the fact that they don't get out much or have friends really concerns me. (See item 4. It's important to have friends, I'm convinced.)
(8) Every class needs a Tammy. She always was organized and spirited and full of life. Tammy makes our reunions happen. For that, I am grateful. (See the video below.)
(9) I went to school with great people. Even the Republicans.
(10) I have selective memory. See items in purple.
And because it's me and I'm a dork who likes to overshare, just ask my pal the guy with the name so nice, you have to say it twice, I made a video of the event. Some stills, some video. Enjoy.....
About that song - it's the Washington and Lee Swing. It was our high school fight song.
Friday night is my 25th class reunion. Okay, just typing those words is like a smack upside the head. I was such a silly girl back then. Oh, who am I kidding? Despite the wrinkles, extra pounds and chestnut tresses faded to silver, at least that hasn't changed. I'm silly as ever.
I can honestly say that I can look back fondly on my high school years. They weren't perfect. They were full of their own kind of angst. And lord no, I would never wish to go back, but I don't look back and cringe (much) or cry or wish people dead. It was an era in my life just like any other - a mixture of good and bad. And don't you know, there's plenty to be mined for good story material. Silly as I am, I'm practical, too. Story material is a good thing.
Now I won't bore you with those details - that's what my reunion is for, but I will tell you that I was privileged to graduate high school smack in the middle of THE BEST nostalgic era since the 1950s. Oh yes, I graduated in 1984. Big hair, big shoulder pads, big music. Reagan, Dynasty, yuppies, skinny ties, John Hughes films. It was........memorable.
Did I ever tell you how I didn't want to go to college and my mother made me go? I was sooooo in love with my boyfriend and I wanted to stay in Rising Sun. But the Big R would have none of that. After an incident involving my father, a chainsaw, and a missing shoe, I scrapped my mother's plans for me to go to nursing school in Cincinnati, and chose instead to go to Ball State to become a teacher.
That plan didn't work out either, but it certainly set me on the path to where I am today. Believe it or not, my decision in 1987 to major in French is what got me my first job in association management and I'm still in the field today. Along the way, I have had great loves, met some of the most incredibly interesting people and have been afforded the opportunity to do things I could have never imagined back in 1984.
And still, I feel like there's so much I want to do.
But for this weekend, I'm going back. I'll see the people who knew me when my hair was dark, my skin was dewy and most of my life was still ahead of me. I can't wait to share the memories and to learn what they've been doing all these years. I'll be back next week with pictures and maybe a few stories that won't bore you too much. Maybe videos, too, Latka!
For now, a couple of songs from that time. ...
This one made me cry back when I was being pushed from the nest.....
And then this one which was best listened to as we drove around in Darla's Trans Am with the windows down and the T tops off.
Ah yes......now I wonder if that Mr. Boston Screwdriver mix is still in the back of the closet at The Big R's house?
