A Special Evening

Thanks to the magic of social networking, I recently connected with a high school peer, Brad, who attended the U.S. Air Force Academy. Now he pilots unmanned aircraft over Iraq and Afghanistan remotely from a States-side Air Force facility. Brad has earned the rank of Lieutenant Colonel in the U.S. Air Force. His story is fascinating for all sorts of reasons.

And as it turned out, Brad was staying just an hour-long drive from Hermes this past week doing work on an advanced degree. The two of us agreed to meet briefly if possible during the week he was close by and we managed to make that get-together happen the other night. I brought my son Philip and his friend Joshua along.

With no shortage of digital flight simulators creating appeal for the life of a military pilot among today’s teens, both Philip and Joshua were curious to meet Brad, hear Brad’s story, and learn about careers in the military and the educational options available—especially the Service Academies. Philip’s career interest is engineering, and the engineering programs at all of the Service Academies are top-rated. The chance to be a military pilot would be gravy for Philip. In contrast, Joshua with his physical prowess and black belt is most interested in a long-term military career.

Riding for an hour with two fourteen-year-old boys was an experience all its own. They’d created a game for themselves called Stupid Americans. The game was simple. Each tried to outdo the other with a humorous one-liner about the silly things Americans think, say and do. Each one-liner was delivered with a mock-accent and always began with the words “Stupid Americans …” It didn’t take me long to catch on.

Philip was ready to make us all laugh, “Stupid Americans! They cut down the rain forests in order to get cheap cow meat!”

Then Joshua quipped, “Stupid Americans! They think black and white movies are ‘classics’!”

So I entered the fray from the driver’s seat, “Stupid Americans! They pay forty cents per minute once they’ve used up all the time on their cell phone plans!”

They laughed sincerely at my one-liner. But then I got serious, “Alright guys. This game is funny. But once we’re with Brad, no more using our country as the basis of jokes. Brad almost certainly knows people who have died for our country and has certainly risked his own life in service to this country. We’re about fifteen minutes out. Spend some time thinking about what kind of questions you’d like to ask him.”

Our evening proved better than I’d hoped. To begin with, Brad took us to a military pub that served especially good greasy spoon. Philip and Joshua each devoured their fish-and-chips. But the real value was delivered as Brad began to explain to the boys about careers in the military, about the military academies, what the boys could do to gain admittance into the military academies and the alternative path of the ROTC programs. He also explained the benefits of enlisting directly out of high school. (Brad felt some of the very best officers were the ones who began their military careers as enlisted men.)

It was an evening to remember, if for no other reason than the fact that I got to see someone I had not seen in twenty-five years. We took pictures of the boys with Brad and then me with Brad. And then it was time to go home. We dropped Brad off at his hotel and headed back to Hermes.

On the ride home, did the boys talk about all the interesting things they’d learned from Brad? Of course not! They went right back to their game of Stupid Americans.

Twins Are Coordinated But Triplets Clash

Twin Day was announced at Orchard Heights Elementary School the day before it happened. The announcement fell on the heels of the Mileage Club award being given to Chloe, Patty and just three other third-graders—all of whom were boys. The award was a sharp looking royal blue t-shirt. With matching t-shirts in hand, Chloe and Patty quickly agreed they were going to be “twins” the next day and set about making their plans which also included putting their long hair up in ponytails.

Later that day, the class was in the library. Chloe and Patty were continuing to discuss their plans for Twin Day when their mutual friend Stephanie approached them. “The teacher says we are allowed to do triplets. You two are my best friends and I want to be triplets with you.”

I’d like to say Chloe and Patty gently but firmly explained to Stephanie that they had partnered for Twin Day to wear the Mileage Club t-shirts they had won. Instead they made a weak attempt to convince Stephanie to partner with someone else before giving verbal agreement to Stephanie’s proposal that blue shirts and blue jeans would make the three of them triplets. And to add another unintended insult to the following day’s injury neither Chloe nor Patty said anything about the ponytails; Stephanie’s hair was too short to ponytail. And while Chloe and Patty were true to their word about wearing blue shirts and blue jeans on Twin Day, the outcome would come as a painful shock to Stephanie.

Before the morning bell had rung to officially begin class, Stephanie was in a state of inconsolable crying. She told the teacher that Chloe and Patty had “switched” Twin Day outfits after the three had agreed on something else. Confessions and apologies were demanded and a “parent must sign” note went home that day with both Chloe and Patty.

I was the first parent to see the note. Chloe was visibly ashamed to hand me the note. Normally such notes are open-and-shut cases like talking in class. This note was different. Chloe and Patty were accused of being sneaky liars. And the note required them to give a written confession to lying. At that point I had Chloe walk me through all of the events and words traded that led to the disconnect regarding what to wear on Twin Day. It included very direct questions about the order of events and the exact words said. And while I was highly sympathetic to Stephanie’s genuine hurt and pain, I was deeply disturbed that my daughter had been coerced into a confession that exceeded her culpability. And so rather than merely signing the note, Amelia and I wrote one back. An abridged version of our note appears below. It reflects much of what Amelia and I value as parents.

Dear Miss Williams—

The note home says Chloe and Patty lied, switched their “twins” outfit and ultimately broke a promise they made to Stephanie. We have drawn different conclusions. Chloe and Patty certainly had a misunderstanding with Stephanie that resulted in deep pain and hurt. And we will work to help the girls mend their relationship. Nonetheless, there is a big difference between a misunderstanding and outright lying. We have concluded that wanting to appease her friend and satisfy her teacher, Chloe was coerced to admit to things she and Patty did not do.

We believe it is an important life skill to defend oneself when falsely or unfairly accused. For someone Chloe’s age who has learned that she is still loved even when she does something wrong, it is much easier and much less painful to accept culpability and move on, especially when the accusation comes from an authority figure—hence the need to develop such skills.

We’d like you to reconsider what happened. If you conclude as we have that this was a simple case of the kind of miscommunications and misunderstandings that happen among third graders, we think your support of this conclusion will work significantly to reconcile Stephanie to Chloe and Patty. If you conclude otherwise, that will be regrettable but we will respect your conclusion; we trust you’ll respect the fact that parents are not always going to agree with you.

Sincerely,

Scott and Amelia Askins

At not even ten years old, Stephanie, Chloe and Patty have reached the point in life when one desires friends and not merely playmates. Common interest may be what initially brings two kids or even two adults together in friendship, but loyalty, maturity, sensitivity and agreed-upon values are what sustain and grow true friendships. Unfortunately one’s desire for friendship at young ages exceeds what one’s closest and most well-intentioned same-aged friends can provide. The gap normally is most severe in middle school. For kids to continue to develop in an emotionally healthy manner during the tween and early teen years, it is essential for them to enjoy the care and respect of adults, beginning but certainly not ending with their parents.

Consistency Takes Priority

Without a commute, I am home much more. My new job has me working out of a home office and travelling two or three times each month. My former job had me commuting roughly one hour each way but travelling just two or three times each year. Most days now I sit with Chloe over breakfast in our kitchen and walk her to her morning carpool. I’d also say I emerge from my home office at the end of the day at least an hour earlier than my commute would get me home. Net-net … Chloe sees a whole lot more of me and gets more “daddy interaction” than she did before, even when taking into account my more frequent travelling.

But Chloe does not like the travelling. In particular, she dislikes the travelling because it disrupts the otherwise predictable “daddy” rituals she has come to expect—rituals that began during my five weeks of unemployment earlier this year. Before I leave for business travel, the thought of me missing consecutive breakfasts and dinners makes her ill at ease. So am I doomed to a less appreciated fatherhood while I continue to travel at this frequency? I do not think so. Instead I need to create a new kind of enjoyable ritual that is tied specifically to my inconsistent travel and return schedule. And for a ten-year-old daughter, there are plenty of enjoyable rituals I can create.

Three years ago, I had a weekly ritual with each of my kids. On Wednesdays I would take Philip to the gym to play basketball before school. And on Fridays I would take Chloe on a breakfast date at the local coffee shop before school. The breakfasts with Chloe became quite elaborate. We brought an age-appropriate board game and would play one or two games before leaving to take her to school. I would park the car in the lower school parking lot and walk her to the front of the classroom where hopscotch squares were painted on the pavement. While waiting for her bell, we would take turns hopping in the hopscotch squares. When the bell finally rang, I would walk her into her classroom and say goodbye with a hug and a kiss.

Today, Chloe is too old to have me take her into her class. But breakfast is a real possibility. So are dessert dates. We had one relatively recently. I took her into downtown Santa Carla and bought her favorite ice cream. As we walked from the parking lot to the ice cream shop, we heard live music coming out of a coffee shop just three doors down from the ice cream shop. Chloe told me she liked the music. Once we had our ice cream, we walked back to the coffee shop. I took us to the counter and explained that even though we had ice cream, we were willing to pay a “corking fee” to sit at a table and enjoy the live music. The proprietor was too nice. “Have a seat and enjoy the evening with your daughter.” We compromised. I bought some imported tea as a present for Amelia. For the next half hour, Chloe and I sat down to enjoy the ice cream with the live music. It was a great evening.

Between a breakfast date and a dessert date and the numerous other possibilities, I am confident I will find something that will satisfy Chloe as an appropriate reconnection ritual for when I return from business trips. The fun for both of us is exploring the possibilities.

Breaking into the Circle

It had been over twenty-five years since I had taken part in a car wash fundraiser. But this past Saturday, I was the only parent who joined over fifteen teens and three twenty-something-aged high school coaches to spend an afternoon washing cars in exchange for donations.

Philip joined me. I was the oldest by at least ten years. (Philip was the youngest by at least ten weeks.) I took the hubcap cleaning brush and spent the afternoon in a squatting position brushing the tar off fifty plus vehicles' hubcaps. I intentionally stayed quiet and observed Philip’s emerging peer group and his slow progress breaking into the circle.

To make myself a little more welcome, I brought a cooler of sodas, two family sized bags of chips, paper plates and a small table—complete with tablecloth—to serve as a relief kiosk. And within half an hour, it seemed the high school kids were acting the same way they would act if I wasn’t there.

I was amazed at how easily I vanished into a state of there but not there as far as the teens were concerned. I could fully observe the dynamic to witness Philip cautiously navigate his way into the group. Most of the kids had been interacting with one another for most of the past academic year, if not longer. Some of the younger ones like Jocelyn remembered Philip from when they were in Middle School. But Philip was effectively arriving cold into a very cohesive pre-existing group.

Philip earned special attention by volunteering for rooftop duty on trucks, vans, minivans and SUVs. Being the lightest boy there, he was a very logical best choice for those jobs. After the first successful roof job, he was comfortable allowing himself to step into the boost-up from teenage guys nearly twice his weight and at least two years older. I thought it was good for him to carve out a niche for himself like that and it seemed to pay off in him getting to know his emerging peers quickly, especially the older guys.

Most of the girls at the fundraiser wanted the role of waving signs and flagging down traffic. But Jocelyn managed to seize the opportunity for herself and her cousin Danielle for the bulk of the afternoon. At one point, the backup was so thick, we recalled all advertisers except Jocelyn and Danielle. But when the lone lull in activity came upon us, one of Philip’s boosters shouted, “Jocelyn! Look what you did!”

“Yeah! Come over here and say that!” she quipped. The guy smiled, waved and turned his back to head for the relief kiosk. “Yeah! That’s what I thought you’d do, you chicken!” Jocelyn pushed before turning back to her sign waving.

Things got silly from time to time. Jocelyn’s older sister was a particular magnet for a handful of suds to the back of the head from one of the other older girls. But for the most part, the kids (as well as the adults) simply worked while quietly socializing. Some of the kids found ways to put different words to a popular tune to tell an amusing tale about washing cars. A few of the songs caught on enough that others joined in for the singing.

At one point, I became mildly concerned that one of the older girls was sounding at bit too patronizing toward Philip. “You’re doing a good job on the cars today, Philip,” she said just a little too frequently and a little too loudly. I considered saying something to her, but quickly decided to let it go. She was probably just trying to be nice and it was merely coming out a little off. When I asked Philip about it that evening, he said it didn’t bother him.

Philip’s made significant strides in getting to know the older teens. But in just one afternoon he did not go all the way from outsider to insider. Perhaps not yet inside would be the best way to describe what he achieved. Philip’s not yet inside status was most clear at the end of the afternoon. The fundraiser was over, and we’d earned over five hundred dollars. I was socializing comfortably with the other adults while I put away the relief kiosk. Under some shade the teens had formed a tight circle. They were casually talking and making cell phone calls to their parents to ensure their rides home would arrive soon. Philip was in the shade too, but the circle never opened up fully to let him inside. He stood behind and in between two people who had half-opened the circle. But to actually be a part of the circle, he would have needed to ostentatiously shove his way forward.

But he was not going to do something so bold this early. He knew he had plenty of time to be fully welcomed into the literal circle. Not yet inside was enough of an achievement that afternoon to satisfy my son Philip.

The Supporting Cast of Characters

When I was in college, I met a man who made documentaries about current events as they were unfolding. The one thing I remember from our conversation was that the most difficult task in making his documentaries successful was building his cast of characters.

So as this blog tracking my kids coming of age moves into its eighth month and Philip’s Middle School career rapidly gives way to High School, I believe it is worth taking a look at who is emerging as Philip’s proverbial supporting cast for the coming years. Some of them you have met already. Others are new to you, but for Philip they have been quite significant for some time. Here are the guys who are closest to Philip.

Craig. Craig is probably Philip’s closest friend. He’s also Philip’s most difficult friend. And as mentioned in a previous post, I’m not certain Philip’s friendship with Craig will survive the transition to high school. The two have known each other since they were on the same soccer team I coached in the fourth grade. They’ve played on multiple soccer and lacrosse teams together, including the lacrosse team this past season. Craig was at our house for the two middle school socials we hosted and proved himself to be the most aggressive deliverer of one-liners. Craig is a good kid at his core. But on the surface he is very reactionary and particularly insecure, which is not a promising combination for Craig’s social life in high school. Craig tells me he has ambitions to participate in student government. I wish him success.

Raul. Raul was Philip’s first friend in Hermes. Before moving from San Geraldo to Hermes, we signed up Philip for Little League Baseball in Hermes. We figured he’d meet a bunch of kids on the team—at least one of whom was bound to be in his first grade class on Philip’s first day at a new school more than half way through the year. When Philip started at his new elementary school in Hermes, he found Raul there waving him into the same class. The two shared a great season of Little League as well as the two seasons of soccer that followed with me as their coach. While Philip has moved on from baseball to lacrosse, baseball remains Raul’s passion.

Ross. Ross is Philp’s “mellow” friend. He’s the friend we called when Philip returned from the emergency room full of so much muscle-relaxer he couldn’t walk. The friendship between Ross and Philip goes back to elementary school. For middle school, Ross transferred to Trinity School, the local K-8 private school rather than following his classmates to Hermes Middle School. The two will rejoin one another at Hermes High School next year.

Joshua. Joshua (lately called “The J-Man” and “Shoe”) has been with Philip at Oak Hills Charter School for the past two years but they have been friends since the first grade. Joshua is unique in that he is not heading to Hermes High School. Instead, Joshua will continue on to the high school program at Oak Hills Charter School. Rather than playing team sports, Joshua enjoys martial arts and has earned himself a black belt. Joshua’s bravado rivals that of Craig, and Joshua would be a close runner-up to Craig in terms of delivering one-liners at the middle school socials we have hosted.

Philip has plenty of other guy friends, of course. But it would be exhaustive to cover them all. And then there are the girls. But the girls deserve to be the subject of their own post.

Some Parents Just Don’t Get It

Every once in while, we run into a family whose values and thinking wouldn’t even make a good science fiction plot. In those rare cases, we often find it impossible to identify any basis for common ground to work out our differences. It isn’t long before we part ways, mainly for the kids’ sake. In each case, there were early-warning signs that we should have heeded from the beginning.

Chloe’s classmate Barbara took a sudden interest in Chloe. Chloe was quite flattered and the parents began trading phone calls about connecting the two kids for play activities. The early warning signs for Barbara’s family were that they had no concept of how or why to respect our schedule.

Barbara’s family lives roughly fifteen minutes from our home. For the first get-together Amelia drove Chloe to Barbara’s house at the agreed-upon time, only to discover they were not there. Amelia called Barbara’s mother on her mobile phone. Where were they? Barbara and her mother were driving and wouldn’t be home for 45 minutes. It hadn’t even occurred to them to call us ahead of time.

We later arranged for a Saturday get-together, coordinating the time of Chloe getting picked up with the time Amelia would need to leave in order to see Philip’s Lacrosse game. I took Philip ahead of time and Amelia waited at home with Chloe. When Barbara’s parents were running 20 minutes late, Amelia called. “Oh. We’re running late this morning. I just got up and Barbara is still in her pajamas. How about we come by in two or three hours?” So Amelia took Chloe to her brother’s game and arrived some time toward the end of the second quarter. Meanwhile, Amelia helped Chloe fight back the tears over her play time with Barbara being delayed and cut short by over two hours.

So we should have known better (especially given the plan) but we let Chloe go to Barbara’s birthday party that began the following Saturday at 11:00am for a viewing of the Hannah Montana movie and wouldn’t end until early the following morning when we were supposed to pick Chloe up after a sleepover with Barbara and four other third grade girls.

Amelia arrived bleary-eyed at 8:15 Sunday morning. Barbara’s mother said she had something very important to tell everyone, especially Chloe’s mother. Normally in such circumstances, this is where a parent gets to make all the children feel good about what great friends everyone was to the birthday girl. Barbara was actually dancing about saying, "Hurray! My mom is going to tell Chloe's mother!"

So after lining all the girls up in a paramilitary fashion, Barbara's mother then declared that Chloe had ruined Barbara's entire birthday. What was Chloe's crime exactly? It took some time to get a clear idea exactly what the problem was. Amelia regrets not having immediately demanded that the discussion be tabled until a time when things could be dealt with privately to ensure each child's dignity. But Barbara's mother did not value ensuring each child's dignity. Instead she wanted to vent. Eventually we learned that any actual crime of commission or ommission took place after Chloe's normal bed time. The girls had already been watching television for over two hours. Barbara wanted to watch more television. Chloe—echoing her parents' values and way of saying things—tactfully said, "I think we've watched enough TV. It's probably time for bed." Barbara's mother then scolded Chloe, saying Barbara was the birthday girl.

Things only went down hill as the clock approached 11:00pm. One verbal altercation after another took place between Chloe and either Barbara or her mother. The two seemed to find pleasure out of there being a girl misbehaving that Barbara's mother could scould. By 11:00pm Chloe had quite enough. She demanded to call us so that she could go home. But Barbara's mother did not want the problem child to go home and so refused. (We now require Chloe to call us when settling down to bed at any sleepover to ensure she does not need to endure such abuse.)

In the end, Chloe will recover from her one difficult night in Barbara's home. Barbara will spend some number of years thinking Chloe ruined her third grade birthday party. She probably believes someone else ruined a lot of events that should have been special. Sadly, it looks like most of the birthday party was fun, but to say it was not ruined would challenge her family's most deeply held values. But a day will come when Barbara will be mature enough to think on her own and can decide for herself who really ruined things. For our family, we merely needed to explain to Chloe that some parents just don't get it.

Perhaps This is Mayberry 2009

Hermes is a small, stable, low-crime, high-test-score community. We have two public elementary schools, one public middle school, one public high school and one private K-8 school. The student population at Hermes High School hovers around seven hundred. I tell friends who live far away that the town in which we chose to raise our children is a bit like Mayberry, the small town in the 1960s television show, Andy Griffith. But the analogy is really only an analogy. Hermes’ two main arteries are always clogged with traffic. There’s a McDonalds, a Taco Bell and plenty of the other trappings of more modern, prosperous, and fast-paced life to remind us we are living neither in Andy’s Mayberry nor in Dorothy’s Kansas.

Hermes is also home to a small private college. Santa Carla, which is just ten minutes south of us, is home to a state university. San Geraldo, a city of roughly one million, is just half an hour north over a mountain highway. Most of Hermes’ working population rides that mountain highway to and from work each weekday. Active religious affiliation is diverse and disproportionately high. Kids’ sports dominate the town’s two large parks. There is more than one ballet academy and more than one martial arts academy. The town’s community center hosts no shortage of additional children’s enrichment activities, including art and music.

Lacrosse is a fast growing sport in Hermes. Philip is now in his fourth season. He’s looking forward to playing Lacrosse for Hermes High School next year. So a late Friday afternoon home game early in the season was cause to take Philip to the High School early last month to witness High School Lacrosse first hand. And that is when my image of Mayberry was shattered.

The player was particularly tall and particularly fit. He had either a tight crew cut or the beginnings of growth on a recently shaved head. I could see he had at least one visible tattoo. In the first two minutes of the game, he received a penalty for a particularly nasty-looking foul. The player mouthed-off to the referee for calling the penalty before the player took his place in the penalty box with a huff. The player continued to acquire penalties throughout the game and each time spoke disrespectfully to the referee. Somewhere in the middle of the third quarter, the player acquired the penalty that booted him from the game. There was no hint of contrition. The player stalked off the field, removed his jersey, pulled the back of his uniform shorts down below his underwear and strutted defiantly on the sidelines, bad-mouthing the referees to his teammates on the sidelines. The production continued until the game was over. I didn’t care that Hermes had won the game.

As Philip and I walked back to the car, I asked him what he thought. His answer satisfied me, but I wanted to take the conversation at least one level deeper.

“Here’s the deal, Philip. You can play lacrosse at Hermes High School next year. But you need to understand something. The way the coaches were tolerating that player’s behavior and attitude leads me to conclude that those same coaches will tolerate what I would consider unacceptable behavior and a toxic attitude from a player if he is a strong athlete. That player was not even one of the top players on the team. And yet the coaches kept him in and let him continue to acquire penalties. When tolerated by the coaches, players like that poison the whole atmosphere on the team. It is an atmosphere you’ll probably need to deal with and accept if you want to play lacrosse at Hermes High School. I’ll understand and respect whatever decision you make about joining the team.” It was a sober ride home.

This past Friday there was another late afternoon home game. I invited Philip to join me to go watch the game, but he declined. When I arrived the coach asked me if I could man the game clock. I accepted and the job put me sitting at a table directly behind the penalty box. I was especially curious to watch the player who had been kicked out of the previous game I had attended. It was shortly after seven minutes when one of the referees gave the player a penalty. It was a foul, but the foul looked a whole lot more genuine than any of the fouls I had witnessed from him before. There was no back-talk this time. He jogged off the field at an appropriate speed and took a disciplined one-knee in the penalty box. He watched the game intently. “Ten seconds, son,” I said as his penalty approached its end. The player made eye contact with me and nodded. Then he turned his attention back to the game. At five I began counting down for him. He released at the buzzer and rejoined the game. “Very nice improvement,” I thought.

And my thought proved correct. The player had no more fouls for the remainder of the game. He played hard and he played well. Whatever the coaches had done to bring about the change in behavior and attitude had clearly been a success. His coaches had confronted and addressed the problem in a time and manner of their own choosing, not mine.

I was very pleased to bring the good report home to Philip. And as I related the story, my image of Mayberry was restored.