On a Scale from 1 to 10

It was Friday evening when this email showed up in my inbox:

It's okay to rate them if they're famous.

Dear Parent of the Class of 2019:

Last evening I was made aware of a posting on a googledocs spreadsheet being circulated among students in the ninth grade.  The author(s) of the spreadsheet have rated and ranked members of the freshman class in a manner that objectifies female students and may be viewed as a form of sexual harassment.

I have interviewed several students today in an attempt to determine the source of the posting and to do what I can to insure that that list does not exist on school district computers and is not continuing to be spread over technology for which we bear responsibility.  Our investigation leads us to believe the list appears on student phones, and not on district computers, and so we will need the help of parents to eradicate the list from the possession of students.

I have also referred the matter to the Nether Providence Police Department as a case involving possible sexual harassment.  Given that we cannot determine the source of the list, we are unable to issue school discipline in this matter at this point.  If we do identify the source, consequences would fall under our harassment policy, including police notification, school suspension, and parent notification.

Any parent with information regarding the list is asked to contact me via email or phone at your earliest convenience.  All parents are asked to speak with your student about the damaging personal consequences of misuse of social media and technology, the proper and respectful treatment of young females, and the potential legal consequences for those who engage in this type of behavior.

Thank you.

MaryJo Yannacone, Ed.D.
Principal

As the mother of a 9th grade girl, I had a number of reactions to this news:

1. Huh. Interesting.
2. Involving police and harassment charges seems a bit extreme.
3. Those boys are in a heap of shit.
4. I wonder how Abby did.
5. I better burn my 8th grade yearbook in which I "starred" the cute guys. If that gets out, I'll never be able to run for political office.

Frankly, that's about as much thought as I gave to the matter. Until the doorbell rang.

"Mom, apparently, one of the boys who made the list is going house to house to apologize to the girls. So if the doorbell rings..."

It rang, and there stood a tall, classically awkward teenage boy with his mom. He confessed to being one of the boys responsible and apologized for what he'd done. His mom noted that many lessons had been learned. When they left, Abby said, "I actually feel bad for him." And Brooke and Ian, who'd answered the door and then listened in from the kitchen, called it one of the most awkward things they'd ever experienced. I give the boy's mom two thumbs way up for handling it the way she did. All you hear of are parents who do everything they can to keep their kids from having to take responsibility for their actions, and here was this guy, facing 50 female classmates (they ranked the top 50) with his mom at his side. Bravo, mom. Bravo. I'd say the punishment fit the crime, but will the school agree? 

Based on the principal's letter, school suspension, police involvement and sexual harassment charges may be forthcoming. And, despite being the mom of a girl on the list (who was significantly under-ranked, by the way), I want to say, "Isn't that going a bit too far?"

Let's face it, we are hardwired to find each other attractive. It's what keeps the species alive. And males and females have been making these kinds of lists for decades, probably centuries. Somewhere I imagine there's a cave drawing with stick figures of various women ranked in order of attractiveness, hunter/gatherer ability, fertility, dinosaur escape skills, and fire making know-how. And I wasn't kidding about my yearbook. It may not have been 8th grade, but at some point I definitely placed stars next to the boys I thought were cute. I may have even given them scores. If a teen girl did that today and her yearbook was passed around and she was caught, would she risk the same punishment as these boys? Knowing our school district, she very likely would, which makes me sigh and shake my head a bit.

I get it, really, I do. For centuries women have been treated as nothing more than objects in a male-dominated society. It's cost us in innumerable ways--emotionally, mentally, physically, professionally, financially. And because we can't allow women to continue to be undervalued, there have to be repercussions for this type of behavior. But somewhere in this mistake lies one hell of a learning experience that I believe can be achieved without the involvement of our criminal justice system.

Yes, the behavior was wrong. It was wrong to come up with a list of categories on which to rate a grade's worth of 15 year-old girls. It was wrong to put the list online and make it available for input. It was wrong to hurt these girls by deciding their worth in physical terms. But, it is forgivable. And a boy who takes the time to apologize to each and every girl on this list deserves to be forgiven. Lesson learned. Let's leave it at that.

The Kids are More than Alright

My increasing prudishness is evident in the TV shows I'm comfortable (or not) watching, the clothes I'm okay (or not) with my daughter wearing, and the skin I'm uptight about showing. I have referenced my issues in a couple blog posts over the years, from "I've Been Thinking," in which I wondered about parents who let their young teenage daughters go out in barely there dresses, to "Saying Goodbye to Sandra Dee" in which I had a small hissy fit about our high school's production of Grease three years ago. Given my well-documented history of serving as the morality police, my reaction to the high school's production of Rent this past weekend is even more surprising.

I thought it was fantastic.

For those of you not familiar with the musical (1996), which was also made into a movie in 2005, Rent tells the story of a group of impoverished young artists struggling to survive and create a life in New York City's East Village under the shadow of HIV/AIDS. Its characters are gay, straight, clean, addicted, living, dying, thriving and barely surviving. It's depressing as hell, and this incredibly mature group of Strath Haven High School students pulled it off beautifully.

I had heard good things about the performances, but was prepared to ask (not for the first time) what the hell Shank, our beloved musical producer/director, was thinking when he chose this show. Of course, it should be noted that his first choice was Company, which is even less age-appropriate than Rent. Shank never was one to play it safe, but he obviously knew his students and he knew what they could handle. He also knew better than to promote it to elementary school kids, which was one of my major beefs with Grease.

After opening night, someone posted a "must-see," rave review on NextDoor.com, a terrific app/website for all things local. But because nothing is ever without controversy on this site (i.e., deer hunting, new traffic circles, or the value of a Sharpie with a missing cap), at least one member had a negative reaction to the recommendation to see the show:

"The idea that children are involved with a show about I.V. drugs, homosexuality, death from AIDS, handcuffed girls getting paid at a stripper club makes me sick! They are too young to understand the depth of Rent and don't need to deal with that subject matter at their ages. Half of you don't even know it's a spin off of La Boheme. The human brain isn't fully developed until age 25. How do you expect teens to handle such material at their ages?

It is inappropriate for children to perform or see Rent in any version as the theme is not for children. Please be a responsible parent and do not allow your children to see the show. Rent is a great show for adults. Take them to see La Boheme instead."

Well, let's just say I bet this poor woman wishes she had never expressed her opinion publicly. There was a bit of a backlash After the last performance, a week later, she finally said: "This is my opinion. I would appreciate if this discussion would stop."

A.J. B. killed it as Roger

But, anyway, I was extremely impressed. Unlike in Grease where the maturity--or lack thereof--of certain students took a fairly innocent show (as compared to Rent) to an almost indecent place, the students in Rent seemed to understand the importance of the message they were sending. Liza B., the young lady in the role of Mimi, the main "handcuffed girl at a stripper club" never took the part to a tawdry, "let's have fun being naughty" place, but rather presented us with a broken shell of a woman consumed by addiction and the physical and emotional price she pays. Similarly, Ethan S., the young man who played Angel, a cross-dresser, managed to avoid creating a caricature or delivering an over-the-top, "look-at-me running around in heels and a dress" performance that many teenage boys would have presented.

Basically, there was nothing gratuitous that turned the production from one of value to one of indecency.

Kate D. as Maureen

And while I'm recognizing these specific
performances for their maturity, I also have to applaud the students for simply wowing me with their acting and singing chops. Kate D., who played the character of Maureen, delivered a stunningly strong performance in her song/scene "Over the Moon". And A.J. B., who played Roger, gave me "goosies" (as J Lo would say) with his singing. I could go on and on. The talent in that cast (typical of Strath Haven) was impressive.

The only disappointing moment came at the very end, after the actors left the stage and lights came on. That's when I turned to Ian, who had sat next to me for the performance, and told him he would have been amazing in the show. And then I cried, informing him he'd broken my heart by never allowing me the joy of seeing him on stage. It was one of my finest--and most shameful--mom-guilt moments.
Sorry, kid.

Perhaps there's a theatre production in your our future at Villanova?

College-Prep Chronicles, Volume 2: The Mom Meltdown

Ian’s transformation occurred just a week or two before his junior year began.  He noted that school was going to be hard, stressful and overwhelming, and he appeared to be bracing himself for the challenges to come. I’ve faced many moments in life with this approach:  Tell yourself something is going to be absolutely awful so that there’s a chance it will be better than you expect.

It’s been super surprising terrific to see Ian approaching his year with a great deal of focus and hard work. Honestly, I’m not exaggerating when I say that he’s more than doubled the amount of time he’s spending on school work each night. It’s as if he just sailed through the past 10 years with little to no effort, and someone (other than his parents, of course) told him this is the year to get your act together. Whatever it was that spurred him on, I’m happy to see the change.

Unfortunately, I’m unhappy at how unprepared I am for Ian’s junior year. I thought I knew what I was doing, and lo and behold I’m actually falling behind. Last week’s back-to-school night threw me into a tizzy.

Let’s talk about back-to-school night, shall we? I’m starting to think it causes post-traumatic stress flashbacks. In my case, to the mid-to-late 80s. The insecurities, fears, concerns and need to compete are the same, only I weigh 20 pounds more and have to color my hair every 6 months weeks to cover the gray. Here are just a few examples of my neuroses what I’ve gone through each year at this time:

• When Ian was a freshman, I felt overwhelmed and insignificant among the other parents who all seemed so much more grown up than me to know what was going on. As I’ve gotten older Ian has advanced, I've become more comfortable, and now I like to look down upon the lowly freshmen parents and laugh at their angst.
• I worry about my hair, my breakouts and my clothing. Am I out of style? Are my jeans too tight? Do I have enough cover-up on that zit? Do I look younger or older than the other moms?
• I bemoan the fact that I can no longer take part in the extracurriculars, or even some of the interesting classes our kids get to take these days. I wonder “Would I make the Silvertones?” “Would I get a solo?” “What about the school musical? Would I have a speaking part?” “Would I make it past the first round in the speech & debate competition?” “Could I get into a great college?” And it occurs to me that if I had had the opportunity to take AP Psychology in high school, that creepy college professor could never have hit on me because I wouldn't have taken his class.  

Getting into college is what’s really stressing me out these days. I had a plan: PSATs in October. See how I do. I mean see how Ian does. If he needs a prep course, we’ll sign him up. If not, awesome. Okay, it’s not much of a plan. Not only am I missing a few steps, but I’m behind the other kids. I mean the other parents. And it turns out there are tests I Ian should take that I’ve never even heard of.  A subject-specific SAT?? Well, yes, Kim, if you had taken any college tours (“I can’t believe you haven’t taken any tours yet”) you’d know that some of them require the subject SAT. No, that’s not instead of the standard SAT, it’s in addition. And don’t forget about the AP tests. Most honors students enter their first year of college with 15 credits under their belt, thanks to AP courses. Oh, and you should really take the AP Spanish course this spring since you have Spanish 4 now. If you wait until next year, with our block scheduling, it will be that much harder to remember everything you learned.

This is why my finger nails look like a dog’s chew toy.

So other kids’ parents have taken them to visit colleges by now. Some already have taken the SAT and the subject SAT and the ACT and the prep courses. Some are talking to admissions counselors to make sure Susie and Bobby are on track for acceptance to their preferred Ivy. How is it I've fallen so far behind??? What if Ian doesn't get into Yale or Princeton and he has to go Swarthmore or Haverford instead? What if he has to actually use mom’s benefits and go to Villanova? What will I tell my friends if Ian doesn't live up to their my expectations his potential? The peer pressure is overwhelming. 

What’s most important is that Ian doesn't disappoint me get a sense of my hysteria. That he remains calm, cool and collected with his nose to the grindstone, taking one day at a time as I've been wisely advising him to do.

He can leave the advanced freaking out to me.

College-Prep Chronicles, Volume 1

I am currently gearing up to appropriately stress over the realities that I will face as the mother of a high school junior. I figure I have seven months to work myself into a frenzy. Already I've been hit with a few reminders that clearly indicate my not-so-slow progression toward having a child "preparing for college:"

1. A letter from a local college admissions consultant, offering his services (for an undoubtedly steep fee).
2. Notice of an upcoming SAT Boot Camp.
3. A report from Rob that a couple of our friends whose kids are also sophomores have in fact signed up with one of those college. admissions gurus. Said gurus are dictating recommending the ideal cocktail of courses that will ensure said sophomores are accepted to their college of choice.
4. When I asked a friend what her family was doing for spring break, she mentioned the possibility of making a few college visits.  

Dear God, is it that time already?

I don't want to panic unnecessarily, so I sought out the advice of an acquaintance who happens to be one of our high school guidance counselors. I sent her an email that went something like this:

Dear Kristin, I'm not freaking out or anything, but I saw the notice about SAT Boot Camp and I'm wondering if Ian should be going to that. I also heard that some of his classmates with particularly overeager engaged parents have already had their kids take the SATs. Are we late on that? What is the normal progression for these things? I'm freaking out over here...

Kristin assured me that we hadn't missed any important milestones in the frantic drive toward my son's college career. PSATs come next fall (and they recommend students take them without training/boot camp first), followed by SATs in the spring, which can be taken again the fall of his senior year. And I think there's an ACT in there somewhere, too. I thought I saved the email so I'd have this important information at my fingertips, but I've just looked for it and can't find it, and now I'm freaking out a bit. Take a deep breath...

The important thing about this whole process is making sure that Ian doesn't pick up on my hysteria concern. I wouldn't want him to stress out, too. Although something tells me it may be too late for that. Just yesterday he confessed to struggling with his grades (for the first time in 10 years), from which he tearfully concluded that he was destined to be a failure in life, never to amount to anything because of a C in Algebra 2. I don't know where he gets his flair for the dramatic. But seriously, these kids feel an overwhelming amount of pressure when it comes time for the reality of post-high school preparations. Between their own hopes and dreams, their parents' wishes, and the unspoken competition with their friends, junior and senior year is a hotbed of anxiety, stress, fear and insecurity. I've actually been advised to avoid all conversation about college applications and acceptance letters with any current high school seniors. "So, did you get in to your first choice?" might just be the thing that sends them over the edge.

I'm relatively certain that this won't be my only blog post on the topic of college; there's just so much territory to cover:

• How to manage the impulse to nag your child for months on end to finish his/her applications.
• How to control a strong desire to "lightly edit" their college essay.
• How to avoid adding stress to what is already a stressful experience. 
• How to refrain from pushing Villanova down their throats putting too much emphasis on Villanova, given my employee discount.
• How to control your inclination to compare your kids' performance/grades/abilities to those of their friends, and question why he/she got in to that school and your kid didn't when they're clearly superior.

(Clearly, the next two years will be all about perfecting my avoidance techniques.)

Given the amount of ground to cover, let's call this part one in an ongoing series that I'll title the "College-Prep Chronicles." 

I welcome your topic suggestions and feedback.

Great Expectations

Earlier this year I became aware of a tween and teenage issue affecting families in what I naively thought was my perfectly insulated and innocent community. It seems "sexting" hit close to home in the families of more than one personal friend. The shock and disappointment was profound and ultimately led to our church organizing a parents' night on the topic of teens and sexuality. And yes, if you know what my church has been going through, you're seeing some irony in this. But that's beside the point.

As my friends and I discussed this disturbing trend in teen behavior, someone mentioned having read about the affects of technology on a teen's desires and proclivities. She reported that the graphic and "advanced" nature of their early exposure to sexuality results in many teens needing "more" in the way of stimulation as they grow toward adulthood. The effects of peeking at Playboy magazine or reading a young adult romance pales in comparison to what our kids are finding online and sharing with one another on their cell phones.  

I'm finding this desire for "more" to be an ongoing theme in this world in which my children live. It may be a byproduct of living in a community where most families have what they need and then some, but it's disturbingly prevalent. No longer is a cell phone acceptable; a smart phone is required (and they still don't answer when you call). A vacation to Colorado is unappreciated because "we've been to that state before." A plain old birthday party at home doesn't suffice when everyone else does something way cooler and more expensive.

Sweet 16 parties and bar/bat mitzvahs are often examples of "more." In many cases, these rite of passage events resemble mini-proms or a wedding reception. I can't speak to the bar/bat mitzvahs of my day because I never attended one until recently, but I did turn 16 a couple nearly three decades ago and these grand affairs were not the norm. I find myself wondering what happened to the good old slumber party. But then again, it's probably safer to gather all of your kids friends in a supervised location where they're less likely to be drinking and photographing their private parts to text to a friend (who then sends it to his friend, and so on). I guess my biggest concern with these first class affairs is that they're setting our kids up for disappointment years from now. What if on their 21st, 30th, and 50th birthdays there's no one to throw them a lavish private party? How can your wedding reception top your bar/bat mitzvah when twenty years earlier it was the talk of the town? If you set the standard so high so early in their lives, can we exceed those expectations for the special moments later in life?

A couple years ago I heard stories of prom date invitations that both amused and concerned me. Boys were arranging elaborate scenarios in which to pop the question, "Will you go to prom with me?" Proposals were staged involving teachers and principals. Banners were hung on the bridge that links the middle and high schools. And a member of the track team recruited his friends to run in sequence wearing specially made t-shirts that read WILL - YOU - GO - TO - PROM, followed by Romeo wearing "WITH ME?" Awe! As in awesome, right? Absolutely. I would have loved to have been proposed to that way. Oops. That's what I was afraid of. To be on the receiving end of that level of sweetness and creativity as a high school senior only sets you up for disappointment when your adult boyfriend proposes marriage by leaning across the couch during a timeout in the football game and opening a little black box. And, he probably belched at some point in this transaction. Trust me, guys get lazy once you've been together awhile. You're rarely going to find romance delivered high school style. (Side note: Rob did not propose to me on the couch during a football game. It was a baseball game. No, but seriously, he proposed to me on the side of the road. It was more romantic than it sounds.)

Lest you think I'm presenting myself as above all this excess, I can assure you that I'm not immune to the temptation to fulfill my kids' desire for more. This Christmas we're heading to Mexico for the week. Unlike Colorado, Ian and Abby haven't been there yet, so they're looking forward to it. (Just hope we can get Abby a passport in time. Damn government shutdown.) And in lieu of a Sweet 16 party, a friend and I made our daughters a deal a year ago, promising them a trip to France instead, assuming they keep up their French studies. I'm sure the party would be much less expensive, but this way I get something out of it, too.

The reality is that many parents, myself included, want to give their children more than they had. Or they want to express their love and pride in their child, regardless of the cost. Sometimes, we go overboard trying to make up for the lack of time we spend together as a family. Our hearts are in the right place when we decide to go big for our kids, I just sometimes wonder whether our heads are in on it too.

Your thoughts?

Putting an End to the Nightmare that is Gym Class

Television, radio, websites and publications — in nearly every form of entertainment there is something that appeals to our individual interests, quirks and passions. There’s no reason to be like everyone else or even engage with anyone else when it can so easily be all about you. By immersing ourselves in that which fits our personality, IQ and emotional needs, we can be assured that no harm will come to our confidence, self-esteem or self-image.

With this in mind, three years ago in “Food for Thought,” I suggested that supermarkets designate lanes based on the kinds of food a customer buys. That way, those of us who purchase crap loaded with preservatives and artificial sweeteners won’t feel badly about ourselves when we’re in line with the organic health food buyer. I’m sorry to say that I have yet to see a grocery store implement this excellent idea. I can practically guarantee they’d enjoy an impressive customer base and strong sales.

Along those lines, today I would like to propose separate gym classes based on body type, athletic ability and basic level of fitness. And I recommend that these segmented classes begin as early as kindergarten so those of us who require remedial hand-eye coordination activities will not find ourselves ostracized during snack time. The reasons for despising gym class tend to vary from age to age and person to person, but the end result is always the same: emotional scarring, night terrors related to dodgeball and long-term aversion to anything physical.

For some, what they most loathe about the experience of phys ed is the actual performance part. Run a mile in 6:30. Finish 10 pull-ups. Catch this ball. Walk in a straight line. These requirements can be brutal and cause one to break out in tears hives at the mere mention. Others may not dread the activities so much, but find undressing in front of their peers is a fate worse than death. Are you as well “developed” as your classmates? Are you clean shaven? Did you forget today was P.E. and wear your Thomas the Train briefs? This is the stuff that keeps therapists in business. That, and our parents.

Personally, I still have nightmares about the choosing of teams in gym class. Who in the world thought it was a good idea to put a couple of kids (usually insensitive bastards athletes) in charge of picking teams? While you can try to blend in with a group of fellow gym class haters for the activities themselves, or disappear in a toilet stall to avoid comparing bra sizes, when you’re lined up against the wall for team selection there’s absolutely nowhere to hide. As each captain starts calling names and the wallflower lineup gets shorter and shorter, it’s basically the equivalent of someone shouting, “We don’t want Shimer! She’s the worst athlete ever!” I was usually chosen second to last, saved only by the significantly overweight kid or the one on crutches.  Good memories.

My simple solution, separating kids into appropriate groups, has the potential to be life-changing. Imagine no more…
• mysterious illnesses on gym class days
• terror at the prospect of playing dodge ball with the football players in your class
• standing alone against the wall like the girl who never gets asked to dance
• shame at wearing granny panties
• fear of ridicule when you fall over your own two feet at the starting line
• hyperventilating when you run out of air during those aptly named “suicides”
• concern that you’re overweight, underweight, undersized or oversized
• costly long-term therapy to address issues of self-esteem

With separate gym classes all kids can feel comfortable in their own skin. There will be no pressure to improve skills, get in shape, lose weight or talk mom into buying you appropriate underwear. Simply put, gym class, high school, and the world in general will be a kinder, gentler place. Now that's something worth cheering for!

This was a Job for the Sociable Spouse

You knew this was coming when you read on Facebook that my son had offered our home as last Friday's pre-Frosh (freshman/sophomore dance) gathering spot for picture taking. I believe my status update ended with *+%#@!%&!. I was at work on Thursday when he asked if it was okay, so I had nonchalantly said yes without asking for details. Important details like, "How many people are coming," and "What's required of me beyond snapping a picture?" At 9:00 p.m. that evening I learned he was estimating about 30 people. Oh, and could I maybe provide some food? Hence the *+%#@!%&!

Much like everything these days (from Sweet 16 parties to senior prom invites), the pre-dance gathering has become a bit excessive. I guess I shouldn't say "has become" because actually I have no idea what they were like "back in the day." I don't recall ever gathering at anyone's house before a prom. The guy just came over to pick me up, my parents took some pictures and we were on our way. But then again I wasn't one of the popular kids and didn't exactly have a "group" of friends. Maybe the cliques got together and maybe their parents came too, and maybe the hosts provided food and drink and turned it into a brief, but well prepared party. That's what it's like now, anyway.

Thankfully I had some idea of what I was in for needed to do after experiencing one of these little gatherings last year. Before the 8th grade dance, we all converged on the home of one of the young ladies in Ian's circle of friends. There, I was shocked to discover a whole spread of food and soft drinks for the kids, and beer and wine for the adults.It was a more impressive soiree than I put on when I'm having a "real" party.

In addition to the woefully inadequate amount of time I had to prepare (damn my full time job!), to add to the pressure was the painful realization my understanding that the kids coming to my house that evening were not any old upper middle class kids. These were Silvertones (members of a select singing group at our high school). And Silvertones is code for "Swarthmoreans." I believe Ian is the token Wallingford kid. The director must have had a quota to fill. If you're not familiar with Swarthmore, which is part of our school district, it's home to the brightest of bright, most artistically talented, and all around green-living, peace-loving and healthy-eating Democrats. Home to the #1 ranked liberal arts college in the country, the borough attracts brilliant Swarthmore College professors who often are married to equally brilliant professors who work at Penn. I'm not positive, but I believe each home in Swarthmore is required to have at least one professor, one medical doctor, or an artist, writer or musician. Basically, compared to people in Swarthmore, I'm a hillbilly with a 6th grade education.

Clean cut, albeit clumped together

Although Swarthmoreans are not exactly unfriendly, I sense they're more comfortable with their own kind. Therefore, I was not looking forward to entertaining these folks and dealing with my petty insecurities. And then there's the fact that I can't remember any of their names when I see them. Clearly this was a job for Rob. And he was in Clearwater, Florida, hard at work taking clients to Spring Training baseball games, expensive meals and golfing. Talk about shitty jobs. Anyway, the point is, Rob was not home.

Rob is a much better entertainer / socializer / networker than I am. (Hence, his job.) He knows which cheeses, crackers and dips to buy, and he always buys enough. (I'm getting better at that.) He knows which wine to pull out of the cellar (No, we don't have a wine cellar. Just a cellar). And somehow he seems to know twice as many people living in our school district as I do. Did I mention Rob wasn't home for this grand affair that I was blowing completely out of proportion?

The older woman...

I'm sure you're anxious to know how it went. The good news is that the kids were pretty decent. One of them in particular, I think they call him D.G., was just about the nicest, most genuinely friendly kid I've ever met. Maybe he's not from Swarthmore. Clearly his parents have done an excellent job raising him. Another good thing about Swarthmore kids is that they tend to not offend my delicate sensibilities, a.k.a. prudishness. No skanky tarts panty-high mini skirts, bared midriffs, or plunging necklines in the bunch. Ian's date was a perfectly dressed, pretty young lady.

The bad news is, as anticipated, I couldn't remember the names of any of them -- kids or parents. And the living room was crowded and clumped with no good setting for a group picture. Then there's the fact that no one ate. I spent $50 on food and I think the only thing that was touched was the watermelon on the fruit platter. By the way, I have to give a big shout out to Freakin' Angel Cathie who made a BJ's appetizer run for me while I was at work.

Now, lest I leave you on a sour note, I should mention that I will have an opportunity to learn the names of all the Silvertones when we spend ten days together in Italy, beginning next Thursday, March 21. I'm chaperoning the group's biennial singing tour of what I have heard is a beautiful country with wine that's less expensive than soda. While I've never been there, I believe all the Swarthmorean kids have already traveled the world. I should be in good hands.

The Adventures of a High School Chaperone

This past weekend was a whirlwind of activity and an emotional freak show for me. I know you find that very hard to believe. It's rare that I'm swept up in a whirlwind of activity. Emotional freak shows, on the other hand, are quite commonplace.

On Saturday morning I joined my son's high school choral group trip to NYC. After seeing the itinerary which included War Horse at Lincoln Center and the students performing the Earth Mass for the Blessing of the Animals at St. John's Cathedral, I shamelessly begged offered the choral group director my chaperone services to assist in shepherding the rowdy teens who make up this rag tag group of singers. That rowdy / rag tag thing was pure creative license. This group is nothing of the sort. They do, however, have their own "Glee" characters, but I suppose that is to be expected.

Along with the "Glee" characters, the weekend also proved revelatory in a number of other ways. Here then, are the top 10 things I learned on my NYC chaperone weekend.

One of the high school
students drew this for me.

1. "Chaperone" is a very loose term. Most likely a school district requirement that in reality serves almost no purpose whatsoever. I'm totally okay with that. As long as Ian still likes me, I'm happy to travel to Broadway or Italy to chaperone his adventures.
2. Ian is taking small steps toward not liking me any more. Well, maybe he likes me, but that doesn't mean he wants me anywhere near him and his friends. He didn't shout "I love you" from across the room, or hug me once during the whole weekend, and for some reason he didn't want to snuggle before going to sleep with the other kids on the floor of the gym at the church. Weird.
3. You know how I often reference my lack of maternal or nurturing instinct? This weekend was a case in point. When packing for the trip I brought MY stuff. The other moms? They brought OTC meds of every kind, tissues, antibacterial wipes, hand sanitizer, bandaids, feminine hygeniene products, etc. in case any of the kids were in need. Of course, guess who needed the bandaid?
4. You know you're with a special group of kids when not only is there no complaint about watching "Dream Girls" on the bus ride, but there was complete silence because everyone was listening with rapt attention. I'm thinking the high school football team would not have had the same response. Just a hunch.
5. Being the mom of a freshman is kinda like being a freshman yourself. The moms of seniors know all the kids and the teachers and how the whole system works. You feel awkward and insecure and wonder if anyone will like you. But then you go to the Hungarian Pastry Shop and you feel better.
6. The Hungarian Pastry Shop is to die for. It's even better when enjoying great conversation with a new friend over a cup of hot tea. I met someone with the same sense of humor as me. Welcome to Snarkville!
7. Speaking of tasty treats, I recommend Mel's Burger Bar. A long wait but a damn good burger and you know I'm an expert in hamburgers.
8. There is something about 232 ft. ceilings that truly makes you feel closer to God. I could spend hours exploring cathedrals and soaking up every bit of their history. Geeky, huh?
9. The Earth Mass at St. John's is always the first Sunday of October. Put it on your calendar for next year. Go ahead, I'll wait. Everyone must see it at least once in their lifetime. 
10. When PMSing or in any kind of hyper-sensitive emotionally vulnerable state, avoid seeing War Horse. I lost it. Had to leave early. Couldn't talk without crying for about an hour afterwards. In retrospect, I'm thinking I may have had some kind of breakdown cause that reaction was way over the top, even for me. 

That's it folks. Coming soon (but don't hold your breath), my husband claims he will post on my behalf (so I can clean the bathrooms) since he doesn't have anything to do this October. Phreakin' Phillies. 

A Reunion and Regrets

I didn't mean to lead you on. I suggested I'd have some juicy blog material from my 25th high school reunion on Saturday. Unfortunately, I don't have anything overly hilarious, heartwarming, or heartbreaking to report. I may have had something to work with if more than 10% of my class of 500+ had showed up. Alas, the turnout was weak. Most of the attendees were locals with just a handful of obviously bored individuals making the trek from out of state.

Overall, I guess everything you would expect from a reunion basically held true. I checked myself in the mirror a few dozen times to make sure I looked okay before getting out the car. Then I contemplated finding a quick shot of botox in a back alley in downtown Easton. Of course I compared myself to every other woman there cause that's what women do. Some looked exactly the same. Some changed quite a lot. There were people whose faces I didn't recognize and some whose names I never heard before. A surprising number of people in my class have died.  Several are divorced. I was really glad to see a few of them, particularly those who, thanks to Facebook, I can now call friends. A shout out to Jim, "reporter for Guitar World," who falls into this "new friend" category.

I'm afraid the most memorable reunion experience was one that embarrassed me and that I'll likely never forget. I wish I could say that I discovered I'd been wearing two different shoes or that there was spinach in my teeth. Even asking someone if they were pregnant when they weren't would have been preferable. Nope. I'm embarrassed to report that I learned I'd been mean. I, Freakin' Angel Kim, had a mean girl moment 28 years ago.

Literally minutes after arriving at the reunion a classmate sought me out. He wanted to show me what I'd written in his 9th grade yearbook. Here's what I read:

To a real nerd, Good luck in the future (you'll need it). Kim

Mortifying. I was not the mean girl. I was the girl who made an effort to befriend outsiders. I never made fun of anyone or laughed at their expense. And I'm relatively certain I wrote that in jest, as is the case with 99% of my snarky comments. But it was a painful reminder of the power of words. The impression they can make and the hurt they can cause. And how something that might seem amusing at the time can say something else entirely 25+ years later.

The weird girl and her funny son

I couldn't apologize enough to this classmate. I tried to convince him (and I meant it) that I must have really liked him to be willing to insult him like that because I only tease (and hurt) the ones I care about. I know that sounds assinine, but that's me.

This yearbook flashback made me think about my son's 8th grade yearbook. I took a look through it recently and enjoyed the funny and sweet comments:

Ian, you're the best ever!

Ian, you are one of the funniest, awesomest people I know.

Ian, you're so cool.

Ian, you are one of the funniest guys I know and you always make me smile and laugh.

Ian! You are an awesome singer and friend too!

And then I read this:

Wow! The planets aligned and we ended up on the discovery team together! Anyway, I don't have much to say, but I do want to tell you that through thick and thin, no matter what happens...you will always be my best friend.

You will gladly do anything when we hang out, and when I feel down, you will always be on my side. As Alfred the Butler said "We fall so we can get up again." You are the reason I can always stand back up. Thank you for an amazing year and many more to come! 

Every time I read that I get a little choked up at the depth of emotion, the maturity, the devotion to their friendship. I never had (nor was) a friend like that in high school, much less through elementary and middle school. In looking back through my own yearbooks from those years, I saw nothing to compare. Many of the comments my "friends" wrote referred to me as "weird." I guess I was right to pray to be normal before the start of every school year. But that's another post.

Lest I leave you all with a tear in your eye and a lump in your throat, both over my meanness and my son's goodness, I will share one more reunion moment. It came in discussion with my junior prom date. He looked good. He's successful. And while I talked with him as Rob stood next to me, I realized I had made a mistake in my choice of men.

I should have never gone to the prom with that tool.

Finding Your Place

My vision of Ian,
a few years into the future...

My son is a gamer. There have been years months days when I was certain I'd find him slumped over the computer keyboard or Xbox controls, his body weakened by a lack of fresh air, nutritional sustenance, and face-to-face human interaction. Ian's love of the game has caused his poor mother more than a little bit of angst, but now I'm seeing a light at the end of the virtual tunnel. Eighth grade will be remembered as the year Ian found his place...somewhere other than in front of a screen.

During the second half of the school year, it became apparent that Ian's "thing" is music and theater. He's enjoyed singing in the chorus since 6th grade, but more recently I saw evidence of his passion and commitment when he attended, without complaint, daily after school rehearsals for the school musical. These rehearsals ate into what would have otherwise been valuable game time.  In addition to the musical, this winter Ian was asked to join Cantible, the select vocal group he unsuccessfully auditioned for back in September. Turns out someone else in the group wasn't doing his job and Ian was invited to take his place. (They had after school rehearsals as well. Even less game time.) When I recently thanked the director for giving Ian the opportunity, she remarked at how he had blossomed and surprised her with his development as a singer.

This past Friday we received news that confirmed that Ian has indeed found his voice. I had a phone call from his best friend, Noah, around 2:30 p.m. before Ian had arrived home from school. The conversation went something like this:

N: Hey, wanna hear something?

M: Sure, what's up? 

N: I think Ian made the Silvertones.

M: What? No way. Where did you get this information?

N: Someone said they saw the list posted at the high school and Ian's name was on it.

M: Are you sure?

N: About 80% sure. 

80% was not sufficient with news as potentially big as this. See, the Silvertones is the most select singing group at our high school. Only 36 students from grades 9 through 12 will make the cut. I had been hoping Ian might make it by his senior year (oh ye, of little faith). I waited anxiously for him to get home from school. Fifteen minutes later, he came to the door with a shocked, disbelieving, over the moon smile.

Me: Is it true?

Ian (playing dumb): What?

Me: Did you really make Silvertones?

Ian: I think so. That's what Henry said. 

Henry is one of Ian's friends. His dad happens to be the director of the choral and theater program at the high school. This meant Henry was likely to have insider information. But still, Ian warned me, "Do not post this on Facebook." He expected a letter from the high school to arrive that weekend. A few hours later, a congratulatory phone call came from the Silvertones coordinator. And the postman delivered a glorious letter also confirming the good news. Ian was one of only two freshmen/women) to be selected. The letter also provided valuable details, including:

• Ian's strengths (excellent resonance, placement, and relaxation throughout) and weaknesses (precise independent intonation and reading)
• The requirement for Silvertones members to be in all three high school choral groups
• The immediate start of 7 a.m. rehearsals, daily.
• An upcoming introductory meeting for parents...to include discussion of the group's spring trip to Italy.

My son, the gamer, a latecomer to finding his voice, now a member of the Silvertones. We're still in shock here, but I couldn't be more proud.

Seeing your child "find his place" in the world---his gifts, a sense of accomplishment and joy, a circle of friends, belonging to a community---is one of the most amazing things I've experienced as a parent.

Thanks for allowing me to share the experience with you.