Mums.
Firstly, Happy Mum's Day to all the moms out there. I am not a mom, but I do have a son.
Wruh?
D-dub, as I'll call him, is a senior in High School that I met while teaching pre college courses at his school. Let's back up a bit more. I have been a teacher, but in the non-traditional sense, for the last six years. Part of what really attracts me to teaching is the ability to help shape kid's lives--to open their minds to all the amazing experiences and ideas that are in the world (and not just the stuff they see in their own neighborhood or their own state, especially the red states). Because some the best parts of teaching are the mentoring parts, I have often thought of signing up for Big Brother/Big Sister (BBBS) and having the chance to really mentor a child for an extended period of time. The problem with BBBS, ok with ME, is that the program seemed sooo time consuming and difficult and every time I looked into it, I talked myself back out of trying it because nothing would be worse that signing up to be a BBBS and then slacking off or skipping out and then what are you teaching the child and thank you very much for ruiining their life even more, now they are addicted to crack, are you happy, you narssisstic freak (take a breath, Jem). So, BBBS always shot down.
Here's the thing, though. When you make a connection with a kid--when you seem to inherently understand their vunerabilities, when you know from the center of your heart that you could, YOU could be the one that motivates the child to take that road less traveled, how can you not help? This is what happened with D-dub. He went from being a part of my after school SAT class, to staying later to play in scrabble tournaments (building vocabulary--Ha! kids, betcha didn't figure that out!), help clean up the classroom, and generally doing any and everything to just hang out longer at school. Fortunately, for D-dub, his story isn't one of abuse, but one of neglect. He was desperate to feel wanted, necessary, important, smart, useful.
In the last six months, a lot has changed in d-dub's life. His grades have gone from straight F's to B's and C's (even an A!), he's been accepted into college, he's gotten valuable validation and experience as an intern with my company, he's successfully interviewed and gotten his first "real" job, and he's been to not just one, but two NBA games. I've gotten the phone calls at 2am when he's stuck on the wrong side of town without a way home, at 7am when he needs a ride to school and doesn't have bus money. I've praised and yelled and rewarded and punished. I've spent scads of money on essentials like glasses, bus fare and food (and boy, do teenage boys like to eat!) as well as nonessentials like movies, video games, candy, and food (see above), and have spent probably 10x the amount of time that would've been required of me at BBBS.
I now worry every time I hear a news report about gunshots or gang violence in d-dub's neighborhood. I've edited essays, researched African American civil rights leaders, created a plant cell diarama (helped create, I swear!), and now know more about Jay-Z and Nas' "beef" than I ever needed to know (in case you are quizzed, Jay-Z is the man, Nas is a hater; we love the Cowboys and hate the 'Skins; we root for Syracuse and the Kings, and, generally speaking, orange and blue are key colors for anything - clothes, shoes, candy, pencils...). I sleep with my phone and I always answer it in the morning (although it better be important!).
Some days, it feels effortless: interactions are light and fun. Others days it's frustrating, and worse, scary. Sometimes, his gratitude is immediate and effusive; other times, I'm tripping and bugging and why can't I just chill? On those days, I always imagine a day five years from now, when D is graduated and happy and healthy and self-sufficient. That day can't happen unless the bad day today happens.
For some of you, all of this is obvious, maybe even trite. But to me, it's all new and fresh and crazy--I'm just 28. I have no business having an 18 year old son. And certainly no real parenting experience (cousins, siblings, and babysitting notwithstanding). I've learned just as much about myself from this experience as I have imparted knowledge. It's been just amazing.
Even so, when the phone rang early this morning, I was prepared for angst in some form. I saw his number on caller ID and answered gruffer than my more voice required, to emphasize my still-in-bed-and-want-to-keep-sleeping-keep-it-quick status.
A cheery D-dub responds, "Happy Mother's Day!"
Today, for the first time, without the pain of child birth, or daily agony of diaper changes, colic, and spit ups, I am somebody's Mother.
Wruh?
D-dub, as I'll call him, is a senior in High School that I met while teaching pre college courses at his school. Let's back up a bit more. I have been a teacher, but in the non-traditional sense, for the last six years. Part of what really attracts me to teaching is the ability to help shape kid's lives--to open their minds to all the amazing experiences and ideas that are in the world (and not just the stuff they see in their own neighborhood or their own state, especially the red states). Because some the best parts of teaching are the mentoring parts, I have often thought of signing up for Big Brother/Big Sister (BBBS) and having the chance to really mentor a child for an extended period of time. The problem with BBBS, ok with ME, is that the program seemed sooo time consuming and difficult and every time I looked into it, I talked myself back out of trying it because nothing would be worse that signing up to be a BBBS and then slacking off or skipping out and then what are you teaching the child and thank you very much for ruiining their life even more, now they are addicted to crack, are you happy, you narssisstic freak (take a breath, Jem). So, BBBS always shot down.
Here's the thing, though. When you make a connection with a kid--when you seem to inherently understand their vunerabilities, when you know from the center of your heart that you could, YOU could be the one that motivates the child to take that road less traveled, how can you not help? This is what happened with D-dub. He went from being a part of my after school SAT class, to staying later to play in scrabble tournaments (building vocabulary--Ha! kids, betcha didn't figure that out!), help clean up the classroom, and generally doing any and everything to just hang out longer at school. Fortunately, for D-dub, his story isn't one of abuse, but one of neglect. He was desperate to feel wanted, necessary, important, smart, useful.
In the last six months, a lot has changed in d-dub's life. His grades have gone from straight F's to B's and C's (even an A!), he's been accepted into college, he's gotten valuable validation and experience as an intern with my company, he's successfully interviewed and gotten his first "real" job, and he's been to not just one, but two NBA games. I've gotten the phone calls at 2am when he's stuck on the wrong side of town without a way home, at 7am when he needs a ride to school and doesn't have bus money. I've praised and yelled and rewarded and punished. I've spent scads of money on essentials like glasses, bus fare and food (and boy, do teenage boys like to eat!) as well as nonessentials like movies, video games, candy, and food (see above), and have spent probably 10x the amount of time that would've been required of me at BBBS.
I now worry every time I hear a news report about gunshots or gang violence in d-dub's neighborhood. I've edited essays, researched African American civil rights leaders, created a plant cell diarama (helped create, I swear!), and now know more about Jay-Z and Nas' "beef" than I ever needed to know (in case you are quizzed, Jay-Z is the man, Nas is a hater; we love the Cowboys and hate the 'Skins; we root for Syracuse and the Kings, and, generally speaking, orange and blue are key colors for anything - clothes, shoes, candy, pencils...). I sleep with my phone and I always answer it in the morning (although it better be important!).
Some days, it feels effortless: interactions are light and fun. Others days it's frustrating, and worse, scary. Sometimes, his gratitude is immediate and effusive; other times, I'm tripping and bugging and why can't I just chill? On those days, I always imagine a day five years from now, when D is graduated and happy and healthy and self-sufficient. That day can't happen unless the bad day today happens.
For some of you, all of this is obvious, maybe even trite. But to me, it's all new and fresh and crazy--I'm just 28. I have no business having an 18 year old son. And certainly no real parenting experience (cousins, siblings, and babysitting notwithstanding). I've learned just as much about myself from this experience as I have imparted knowledge. It's been just amazing.
Even so, when the phone rang early this morning, I was prepared for angst in some form. I saw his number on caller ID and answered gruffer than my more voice required, to emphasize my still-in-bed-and-want-to-keep-sleeping-keep-it-quick status.
A cheery D-dub responds, "Happy Mother's Day!"
Today, for the first time, without the pain of child birth, or daily agony of diaper changes, colic, and spit ups, I am somebody's Mother.
posted by Jaime at
9:58 PM
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