Released today was a study by a group of interested organizations that concludes high school students don't care about the First Amendment. "First Amendment No Big Deal, Students Say" was the headline in the AP story.
One in three high school students say the First Amendment goes too far. Only half the student respondents don't agree withprior restraint of the press. A majority of students believe flag burning is illegal (and it may be soon at this rate).
Be afraid, be very afraid.
Monday, January 31, 2005
**On-Line dating**
I told my dearest friends and dinner companions about my dating plans. Yes, being true to the Internet I am using that as my medium for meeting people. I would just stand out in a bar. My dancing would only drudge up bad memories of Elaine Bennis from Seinfeld re-runs. So the Internet seems the way to go.
Pity the poor fool who interacts with me. He is liable to end up as a discussion item on my blog.
Still I am going to remain hopeful, pull out my credit card and see what happens. I looked into eHarmony (the link is not an endorsement.... yet). It took me months just to fill out the personality profile. That may in part have been influenced by a general sense of ambivalence and doing this. But I finished it one day while avoiding some task at hand. I submitted the profile and thus began the daily emails telling me to join and meet the love of my life. When that marketing technique didn’t work, I was sent a match. OK, that got me a little interested and motivated me to fill out some introductory information. But responding required that I join. I hesitated.
And then match two came a long.
Damn, they reeled me in.
I joined – after justifying this outrageous use of my son's college funds - by finding a "two months for the price of one" coupon on-line.
So I am starting the communication process with one and waiting to start with the other. They sound good on paper,
but then I probably do too.
This has the makings of a nerve wracking experience.
Pity the poor fool who interacts with me. He is liable to end up as a discussion item on my blog.
Still I am going to remain hopeful, pull out my credit card and see what happens. I looked into eHarmony (the link is not an endorsement.... yet). It took me months just to fill out the personality profile. That may in part have been influenced by a general sense of ambivalence and doing this. But I finished it one day while avoiding some task at hand. I submitted the profile and thus began the daily emails telling me to join and meet the love of my life. When that marketing technique didn’t work, I was sent a match. OK, that got me a little interested and motivated me to fill out some introductory information. But responding required that I join. I hesitated.
And then match two came a long.
Damn, they reeled me in.
I joined – after justifying this outrageous use of my son's college funds - by finding a "two months for the price of one" coupon on-line.
So I am starting the communication process with one and waiting to start with the other. They sound good on paper,
but then I probably do too.
This has the makings of a nerve wracking experience.
**Supreme Commander syndrome**
I am going through some of the self-reflection that apparently comes with thinking about dating again. Now if you have read some of the recent posts you will get the sense that I am going through some significant changes in my life already. My son is leaving to live with his dad, I am applying to law school, I am in legal hell with my ex, and my dog is aging quickly (ok you didn’t know about that). Any rationale, sane person might suggest I not add another stress to my life. Yet, this is how I respond to stress all the time: by diving into something completely unknown. I think it actually keeps me from over thinking the other stuff.
Anyway, with this self-reflection I began to think about the habits and idiosyncrasies I have developed living without a mate for a long time. I haven’t lived alone – there are the two kids I have raised by myself since they were 7 & 9. But I have always been the “supreme commander.” I use that term a little tongue in cheek because, as my kids well know, they are peculiarly adept at manipulating me without my knowledge. It is a perfect symbiotic relationship: They mess with me and I don’t realize it and go on reveling in my belief that I am in absolute control.
Still the control issue becomes more relevant when I think about the possibility of sharing my life with someone else. I don’t think the supreme commander gig will fly with an adult companion. This sense of control, even if a facade at best, though has led to certain ways of living that may be hard to change. Furthermore, the idea of accommodating someone else’s habits and idiosyncrasies at this point in my life is not that appealing. Besides there was only one person with whom I felt completely comfortable and we never figured out a way to be together. For some reasons, his idiosyncracies never bothered me, well maybe, except the one about not being with me:(
Case in point. I don’t really care how friends keep their house, but no matter how close a friend it is, I pick up my house before they come over. Intellectually, I totally buy into the idea that a good friend won’t care. I don’t care when I go elsewhere. Doesn't make a difference when it comes to my house.
I am having my dearest friends over for dinner tonight and I will vacuum, dust, and clean all the bathrooms. Yes, all the bathrooms. I think I got this from my mother. She has fucking ruined me. I am undate-able.
Anyway, with this self-reflection I began to think about the habits and idiosyncrasies I have developed living without a mate for a long time. I haven’t lived alone – there are the two kids I have raised by myself since they were 7 & 9. But I have always been the “supreme commander.” I use that term a little tongue in cheek because, as my kids well know, they are peculiarly adept at manipulating me without my knowledge. It is a perfect symbiotic relationship: They mess with me and I don’t realize it and go on reveling in my belief that I am in absolute control.
Still the control issue becomes more relevant when I think about the possibility of sharing my life with someone else. I don’t think the supreme commander gig will fly with an adult companion. This sense of control, even if a facade at best, though has led to certain ways of living that may be hard to change. Furthermore, the idea of accommodating someone else’s habits and idiosyncrasies at this point in my life is not that appealing. Besides there was only one person with whom I felt completely comfortable and we never figured out a way to be together. For some reasons, his idiosyncracies never bothered me, well maybe, except the one about not being with me:(
Case in point. I don’t really care how friends keep their house, but no matter how close a friend it is, I pick up my house before they come over. Intellectually, I totally buy into the idea that a good friend won’t care. I don’t care when I go elsewhere. Doesn't make a difference when it comes to my house.
I am having my dearest friends over for dinner tonight and I will vacuum, dust, and clean all the bathrooms. Yes, all the bathrooms. I think I got this from my mother. She has fucking ruined me. I am undate-able.
Saturday, January 29, 2005
**Uncle Sam's selective service**
I watched “Good Morning Vietnam” last night. Thinking about Adrian Cronauer’s life in Saigon somehow seemed relevant with things about to implode in Baghdad. This weekend marks the Iraqi elections. All hell is going to break loose. The timing is near and dear to my heart. My son is about to turn 18. My Valentine’s baby. Actually, he also is known as the baby with whom I labored through Friday the 13th.
But as he applies for college financial aid (see previous post), he must also register for the selective service.
I am watching the job listings in Canada.
But as he applies for college financial aid (see previous post), he must also register for the selective service.
I am watching the job listings in Canada.
Friday, January 28, 2005
**Welcome to the hell that is financial aid**
There are plenty of reasons to hate this time of the year. The days are short, the sun is scarce, grey becomes a primary color....
But my number one reason is the arrival of year end tax information.
And so the dance begins.
It starts with the quiet pledge to get taxes done early. And if getting taxes done early means tossing even remotely relevant pieces of paper into a general pile on my desk - next to dirty laundry - then I can say, without reservations that I do get on my taxes right away.
It is the damn filling-out-of-the-tax-forms that stump me each year. The most embarassing part is that I don't fill out the forms. I completely exploit my relationship with my sister, aka best friend, aka confidente, aka life saver, aka personal advisor in all matters of love and finances, and have her do them on her computer tax program while I feed her data over the phone. AND STILL, I can't seem to get them out before April 15th.
Well dammit, this year is different. I HAVE to do taxes early. The key reason for this new found diligence is because my son is going to college next year. Financial aid is, like, really important. One of his top choices, Bucknell University, is
40,000 dollars a year!
That is more than I made last year (I know this cause I did my taxes)! Well, I have learned that you really have to WANT financial aid bad to apply, cause the process is a freaking nightmare. They want financial aid forms right after the first of the year! So as each day of the month passes, stress increases as W-2's and tax information doesn't arrive. Finally, when it all comes (6 days before financial aid deadlines)
I dive in.
But hey, there is hope. Cause it is about our son, right? So I write, following up on his earlier inquiry - astute as it was - asking if our son's plans to attend college (keep in mind that I have pretty good evidence that he communicates with said son). This is mostly about rattling my chain.
I tell him that several schools need his financial information.... that I just learned about the requirement the day before.. and in case my son had not already emailed him, I was letting him know. I then provide a list of the colleges, how to get to the right site to fill out the forms and the password info.
About 48 hours later I get back the following email....
Oh wait.. nope, he didn't thank me. An oversight I am sure.
Hmmm, why did I wait this late to email him? Because I thought it was just me filling stuff out and by any historical measure, 6 days before the deadline was pretty early for me. Surprise. Wasn't thinking about the ex. Like me, I thought the colleges wouldn't give a shit about him either.
But my favorite passage is the second sentence. What disturbs the ex more, apparently, is that our little baby of
17 years 340 days
is involved in his own college finances. Maybe I made a bad call here. I guess I just thought that since my son drives, shaves, backpacks, and lives on his own whenever I travel....
Dammit, under no circumstances should I have burdened my little boy with the responsibility to notify his father that there was a financial aid form to fill out.
Call social services now! I want to turn myself in!
But my number one reason is the arrival of year end tax information.
And so the dance begins.
It starts with the quiet pledge to get taxes done early. And if getting taxes done early means tossing even remotely relevant pieces of paper into a general pile on my desk - next to dirty laundry - then I can say, without reservations that I do get on my taxes right away.
It is the damn filling-out-of-the-tax-forms that stump me each year. The most embarassing part is that I don't fill out the forms. I completely exploit my relationship with my sister, aka best friend, aka confidente, aka life saver, aka personal advisor in all matters of love and finances, and have her do them on her computer tax program while I feed her data over the phone. AND STILL, I can't seem to get them out before April 15th.
Well dammit, this year is different. I HAVE to do taxes early. The key reason for this new found diligence is because my son is going to college next year. Financial aid is, like, really important. One of his top choices, Bucknell University, is
40,000 dollars a year!
That is more than I made last year (I know this cause I did my taxes)! Well, I have learned that you really have to WANT financial aid bad to apply, cause the process is a freaking nightmare. They want financial aid forms right after the first of the year! So as each day of the month passes, stress increases as W-2's and tax information doesn't arrive. Finally, when it all comes (6 days before financial aid deadlines)
I dive in.
- Learn first that the FASFA form requires registration and a PIN number that takes 3 days to process.
- Learn that several schools want a CSS profile also.
- Learn that CSS profile is part of college boards. Spend two days trying old usernames and passwords to re-enter son's old SAT account.
- Learn that it will cost me $90 to send CSS forms to colleges.
- Pay $90 and learn that dreaded ex husband must also file forms to several of the schools.
- Proceed to shut down computer and contemplate advantages of community college.
But hey, there is hope. Cause it is about our son, right? So I write, following up on his earlier inquiry - astute as it was - asking if our son's plans to attend college (keep in mind that I have pretty good evidence that he communicates with said son). This is mostly about rattling my chain.
I tell him that several schools need his financial information.... that I just learned about the requirement the day before.. and in case my son had not already emailed him, I was letting him know. I then provide a list of the colleges, how to get to the right site to fill out the forms and the password info.
About 48 hours later I get back the following email....
I received your email about the financial aid forms that I need to fill out for [son's name here]. Why on earth would you wait this late to send me these forms if it means [son's name here] may not be eligible for financial aid if they are not submitted on time? And, more disturbing to me, since when has it become the children's responsibility to be the couriers of information regarding financial matters between the two of us?You might wonder why I left out the beginning where he THANKED me for providing him with all the information he needed to get to the site and fill out the forms.
Oh wait.. nope, he didn't thank me. An oversight I am sure.
Hmmm, why did I wait this late to email him? Because I thought it was just me filling stuff out and by any historical measure, 6 days before the deadline was pretty early for me. Surprise. Wasn't thinking about the ex. Like me, I thought the colleges wouldn't give a shit about him either.
But my favorite passage is the second sentence. What disturbs the ex more, apparently, is that our little baby of
17 years 340 days
is involved in his own college finances. Maybe I made a bad call here. I guess I just thought that since my son drives, shaves, backpacks, and lives on his own whenever I travel....
Dammit, under no circumstances should I have burdened my little boy with the responsibility to notify his father that there was a financial aid form to fill out.
Call social services now! I want to turn myself in!
Thursday, January 27, 2005
**Insights into my soul**
Insight into my soul. Who would have guessed....
Maybe more telling is my true age (as opposed to my biological age). This makes more sense!
| You Are a Dreaming Soul |
Your vivid emotions and imagination takes you away from this world. So much so that you tend to live in your head most of the time. You have great dreams and ambitions that could be the envy of all... But for you, following through with your dreams is a bit difficult You are charming, endearing, and people tend to love you. Forgiving and tolerant, you see the world through rose colored glasses. Underneath it all, you have a ton of passion that you hide from others. Always hopeful, you tend to expect positive outcomes in your life. Souls you are most compatible with: Newborn Soul, Prophet Soul, and Traveler Soul |
Maybe more telling is my true age (as opposed to my biological age). This makes more sense!
|
You Are 28 Years Old |
|
13-19: You are a teenager at heart. You question authority and are still trying to find your place in this world. 20-29: You are a twentysomething at heart. You feel excited about what's to come... love, work, and new experiences. 30-39: You are a thirtysomething at heart. You've had a taste of success and true love, but you want more! 40+: You are a mature adult. You've been through most of the ups and downs of life already. Now you get to sit back and relax. |
Wednesday, January 26, 2005
**Online quizzes to label your inner... whatever**
My niece and her friends (the ones that I joined in Peru this past fall) are consumate bloggers. In fact they got me started blogging. They often post these web quizzes to which I also am becoming addicted.
Here is the most recent one:
Yes, that is me.... progressive girl.
My favorite quiz was the one I found on the New York Times web site. A free IQ test. I did very well. Genius. Of course I can't find it again. But then directional skills was not part of the test.
The next one I am doing will label my soul.
Here is the most recent one:
I am Progressive Girl
Click on the picture below to read more:
|
Yes, that is me.... progressive girl.
My favorite quiz was the one I found on the New York Times web site. A free IQ test. I did very well. Genius. Of course I can't find it again. But then directional skills was not part of the test.
The next one I am doing will label my soul.
Tuesday, January 25, 2005
**Parenting 2004**
I am thinking today about how one balances responsible parenting with this "hands-off," "gotta let the kid figure it out on his own," "a young man needs to be impetuous and impatient and make mistakes" mantra....crap. I am pretty sure now that as a parent who actually gives a shit about what happens to her son, that simply
A PARENT WILL NOT EMERGE FROM PARENTING UNSCATHED.
There seem to be two parenting options in the long run (barring blatant neglect) be irresponsible as a parent, or to be pro-active and prepare for your child to hate you for an indeterminant amount of time. My parents' generation was of the mind that it was best to do the latter. And I hated my parents for much of my teen years. Well not my Dad, but it was because he was never around (am I having deja vu with my own son here?).
I, on the other hand seem, to be part of a parenting generation that puts a lot of effort into being "friends" with one's kids. I totally bought into that for much of my kids' youth. But I gotta tell you, it is much harder ground to navigate. And by the way, have anyone noticed how fucked up kids are these days? It is undoubtedly worse than it was when I was a teen, in spite of the impression that the movie "Alice Doesn't Live Here Anymore" might leave. Hell it could be TV, video games and the Internet too, but let's give my generation at least a little credit for messing up their legacies.
But with my son... be it that time in his life or be it that our relationship was defined in a way that leaves no space for parental wisdom, he considers my advice with what amounts to a passing dismissal. I almost wish he would outright reject what I say with a fervor that I can assign to the age appropriate rebellious attitude. It feels more that I am just ignored. Invisible. Wait, when did I last feel this way? Was it.....
when I was a teenager?!
I take little comfort in my friend's comments that someday he will realize that I was an amazing mother. (By the way, by all objective standards, I pretty much was.) Could this be self-righteousness that I am feeling?
A PARENT WILL NOT EMERGE FROM PARENTING UNSCATHED.
There seem to be two parenting options in the long run (barring blatant neglect) be irresponsible as a parent, or to be pro-active and prepare for your child to hate you for an indeterminant amount of time. My parents' generation was of the mind that it was best to do the latter. And I hated my parents for much of my teen years. Well not my Dad, but it was because he was never around (am I having deja vu with my own son here?).
I, on the other hand seem, to be part of a parenting generation that puts a lot of effort into being "friends" with one's kids. I totally bought into that for much of my kids' youth. But I gotta tell you, it is much harder ground to navigate. And by the way, have anyone noticed how fucked up kids are these days? It is undoubtedly worse than it was when I was a teen, in spite of the impression that the movie "Alice Doesn't Live Here Anymore" might leave. Hell it could be TV, video games and the Internet too, but let's give my generation at least a little credit for messing up their legacies.
But with my son... be it that time in his life or be it that our relationship was defined in a way that leaves no space for parental wisdom, he considers my advice with what amounts to a passing dismissal. I almost wish he would outright reject what I say with a fervor that I can assign to the age appropriate rebellious attitude. It feels more that I am just ignored. Invisible. Wait, when did I last feel this way? Was it.....
when I was a teenager?!
I take little comfort in my friend's comments that someday he will realize that I was an amazing mother. (By the way, by all objective standards, I pretty much was.) Could this be self-righteousness that I am feeling?
Monday, January 24, 2005
**Busted**
One of the most intriguing qualities of blogging, in my meager mind, is the interesting blurring of public and private. I haven't quite dissected the impulse people have, apparently including yours truly, to take what one would normally write in a journal...
... and post it to the world.
I guess there is an air of anonymity that exists on the Net. Those who read blogs, as well as those who blog, play out this interesting voyueristic dance.
Harmless, right?
Of course it hasn't been harmless for everyone. The most well known example of one's blog biting one's ass is Heather Armstong's blog. I have taken my blog link down from my work website.
Still, I think most people while not minding their personal and even private thoughts being "out there," may beleive that at some level, they remain disconnected from those ideas in the anonymity of the Web. This all leads to.....
I received an IM from my college-aged daughter today, who said she happened upon my blog.
The public and personal collide in the most personal way possible.
Yo soy busted.
... and post it to the world.
I guess there is an air of anonymity that exists on the Net. Those who read blogs, as well as those who blog, play out this interesting voyueristic dance.
Harmless, right?
Of course it hasn't been harmless for everyone. The most well known example of one's blog biting one's ass is Heather Armstong's blog. I have taken my blog link down from my work website.
Still, I think most people while not minding their personal and even private thoughts being "out there," may beleive that at some level, they remain disconnected from those ideas in the anonymity of the Web. This all leads to.....
I received an IM from my college-aged daughter today, who said she happened upon my blog.
The public and personal collide in the most personal way possible.
Yo soy busted.
Saturday, January 22, 2005
**Comment on post divorce parenting**
One of the more interesting dynamics of my divorce (over 10 years ago), is that my ex has convinced himself that I, and no one else (especially him), am responsible for nuturing, facilitiating, protecting, and mantaining his relationship with his kids. This is the man that did not want custody of the kids because it might require that he wait another month to remarry.
My favorite communication of all time occured right when my daughter went to college. Keep in mind that she was 18, and her father had not communicated with her in a long time (including not even a card on her 18th birthday).
Out of the blue, he asked in an email to me how to reach her adding some commentary that I have not kept him informed of her whereabouts. (He was so on top of her life that he didn't even know where she was attending college and never bothered to email her during the previous year about her college plans.) I knew she was quite upset with him so I responded that I would forward the email to her and she could contact him.
This led to the following message from ex:
Regarding (daughter's name here), I did not ask you to forward an email to her. You have a legal obligation to inform me of her whereabouts and how to
get ahold of her. It is this type of lack of information on your part
that creates a lack of trust in not just our parenting relationship
but the relationship between the children and I (sic).
I just loved being able to respond this way now that the kids are old enough:
(ex's name here), It seems when you don't get what you want to blame me. This time it is for withholding information or undermining *trust* between you and me or you and the kids.
My response to you was based on one simple fact. (daughter's name here) is 18. It is no longer required (as you seem to suggest), nor is it appropriate for me to supply you with personal information about her or anything else of that sort, without explicit permission from her. I don't want to be involved in what ever is going on between the two of you....
Reminder to self: Although anecdotal observations seem to suggest that we heteros are the ones that have screwed up the institution of marriage, ask gay and lesbian friends why they would EVER want to be part of it?
My favorite communication of all time occured right when my daughter went to college. Keep in mind that she was 18, and her father had not communicated with her in a long time (including not even a card on her 18th birthday).
Out of the blue, he asked in an email to me how to reach her adding some commentary that I have not kept him informed of her whereabouts. (He was so on top of her life that he didn't even know where she was attending college and never bothered to email her during the previous year about her college plans.) I knew she was quite upset with him so I responded that I would forward the email to her and she could contact him.
This led to the following message from ex:
Regarding (daughter's name here), I did not ask you to forward an email to her. You have a legal obligation to inform me of her whereabouts and how to
get ahold of her. It is this type of lack of information on your part
that creates a lack of trust in not just our parenting relationship
but the relationship between the children and I (sic).
I just loved being able to respond this way now that the kids are old enough:
(ex's name here), It seems when you don't get what you want to blame me. This time it is for withholding information or undermining *trust* between you and me or you and the kids.
My response to you was based on one simple fact. (daughter's name here) is 18. It is no longer required (as you seem to suggest), nor is it appropriate for me to supply you with personal information about her or anything else of that sort, without explicit permission from her. I don't want to be involved in what ever is going on between the two of you....
Reminder to self: Although anecdotal observations seem to suggest that we heteros are the ones that have screwed up the institution of marriage, ask gay and lesbian friends why they would EVER want to be part of it?
Friday, January 21, 2005
**Your dominant intelligence is....?**
OK, I tried this on line test that is supposed to determine your dominant intelligence. I tried it twice, because the first result didn't seem right. It came out the same way the second time. I am not sure I agree with this because:
1. I am not naturally athletic, although I definitely am an athelete wannabe
2. I don't dance. I am not good at dancing. I have no natural rhythm.
3. I figured that as an academic, I would have "different" dominant intelligences than those associated with knowing the world through physical movement.
Try it for yourself.
1. I am not naturally athletic, although I definitely am an athelete wannabe
2. I don't dance. I am not good at dancing. I have no natural rhythm.
3. I figured that as an academic, I would have "different" dominant intelligences than those associated with knowing the world through physical movement.
Try it for yourself.
|
Your Dominant Intelligence is Bodily-Kinesthetic Intelligence |
 Sports are fun and easy for you, especially those requiring good hand - eye coordination. There's also a good chance you're a great dancer, or good at expressing yourself through body language. You learn best by doing, and you feel like you've always got to be moving (even if it's just your hands). You would make a good athlete, physical education teaches, dancer, actor, firefighter, or artisan. |
Tuesday, January 18, 2005
**Why I love the law and hate attorneys**
Law is a beautiful thing. OK, maybe that is a bit generous. Let's qualify. The idea of law is a beautiful thing. The reality of law is a grand perversion and the subject of enormous abuse by politicians and lawyers. Today I will address the lawyers. How lawyers can take something as pristine as the idea of an agreed upons collection of rules by which a society is bound and exploit them for their own economic gain is beyond me. In any litigation I have seen personally, it is always the lawyer who wins. Notice that the parties involved risk everything. The lawyer's gain is guaranteed regardless of the outcome - even contingency lawyers only take on cases they know will pay their own way. In the end it is not about justice and fairness and equity. It is about argumentation and winning. It is inherently antagonistic. It sucks.
Is it possible to have law without lawyers? I don't know. I know that I love studying the law enough to go to law school. The idea of being any kind of lawyer that I have known, disturbs me. So I intend to practice law for the beauty of law itself, serving the higher calling of justice and equity. I have certainly read enough feminist and critical legal studies critiqes of Rawls to know that that the hypothetical man and notions of blind justice are wrought with problems.
The question of the day.... will going to law school make me a total jerk and sell-out?
Is it possible to have law without lawyers? I don't know. I know that I love studying the law enough to go to law school. The idea of being any kind of lawyer that I have known, disturbs me. So I intend to practice law for the beauty of law itself, serving the higher calling of justice and equity. I have certainly read enough feminist and critical legal studies critiqes of Rawls to know that that the hypothetical man and notions of blind justice are wrought with problems.
The question of the day.... will going to law school make me a total jerk and sell-out?
Sunday, January 16, 2005
**Why does parenting hurt?**
Losing a teenage kid to the rest of the world hurts worse than the end of any relationship. Screw boyfriends and significant others. This one rips the heart right out - think of that scene in the Indiana Jones movie in that spooky cave where they modelled some bizarre perversion of voodoo and ancient Inca custom by reaching into some poor fool's chest and ripping out a beating heart. Yep that is ultimately the end result of parenting, I fear.
My last born, on the cusp of turning 18 has announced that instead of continuing with his AP and college classes (which he is taking to avoid being totally dumbed down at his high school) he wants to drop his classes, abandon his underground newspaper, his garage band, finish his last required English credit on line and move to Italy for the semester.
Now before you respond with "what the fuck is your problem; it is not as though the kid has come home and told you his girlfriend is pregnant, or that he is married, or that he is entering a methadone program to kick his heroine habit...." I just want to say that shock is a relative thing. This is a kid who a month ago hadn't mentioned a thing. Four months ago he was focused on these classes, his girlfriend, a newspaper he started and playing soccer and ultimate frisbee. And let's not forget a damn good garage band. Now all that stuff is being pushed aside.
OK in the interests of full disclosure, I have to say that Italy is not some random idea. He has been there twice before. Once about five years ago and once while my daughter and I moved cross country to the west coast. You see, his father lives there. It makes sense now doesn't it? But as time and blogging will reveal, his father is a mixed bag at best.
I totally get the "want to spend time with dad" thing. And I am sure that is part of it. I can, intellectually at least, understand the desired to connect with one's father regardless of who he is. I actually think it is a good idea in principle. He should get to know the guy. His most consistent memories of him are probably from a handful of visits over the year - none longer than two weeks - and what he can remember from his early childhood before we split. My son has harbored a longstanding "pedestal" complex. A good long visit should handle that well enough.
What concerns me more is the abandonment of his life here on the cusp of college admissions. And why can't this trip wait for the summer. No reasons he has mentioned seem, on their own to be sufficient... except the heart-ripping one - he needs to get away from me.
My last born, on the cusp of turning 18 has announced that instead of continuing with his AP and college classes (which he is taking to avoid being totally dumbed down at his high school) he wants to drop his classes, abandon his underground newspaper, his garage band, finish his last required English credit on line and move to Italy for the semester.
Now before you respond with "what the fuck is your problem; it is not as though the kid has come home and told you his girlfriend is pregnant, or that he is married, or that he is entering a methadone program to kick his heroine habit...." I just want to say that shock is a relative thing. This is a kid who a month ago hadn't mentioned a thing. Four months ago he was focused on these classes, his girlfriend, a newspaper he started and playing soccer and ultimate frisbee. And let's not forget a damn good garage band. Now all that stuff is being pushed aside.
OK in the interests of full disclosure, I have to say that Italy is not some random idea. He has been there twice before. Once about five years ago and once while my daughter and I moved cross country to the west coast. You see, his father lives there. It makes sense now doesn't it? But as time and blogging will reveal, his father is a mixed bag at best.
I totally get the "want to spend time with dad" thing. And I am sure that is part of it. I can, intellectually at least, understand the desired to connect with one's father regardless of who he is. I actually think it is a good idea in principle. He should get to know the guy. His most consistent memories of him are probably from a handful of visits over the year - none longer than two weeks - and what he can remember from his early childhood before we split. My son has harbored a longstanding "pedestal" complex. A good long visit should handle that well enough.
What concerns me more is the abandonment of his life here on the cusp of college admissions. And why can't this trip wait for the summer. No reasons he has mentioned seem, on their own to be sufficient... except the heart-ripping one - he needs to get away from me.
Monday, January 10, 2005
**Could it be a mid life crisis? Only my insurance agent knows for sure.**
Well this is the question, isn't it? I hit the 45 year mark. Had no problem at the 40 year mark. Each decade - 20, 30, 40 - is more liberating. Less shit to make one self-conscious.
So what happened at 45?
Started off smoothly. Got a seemingly innocuous reminder to renew my term life insurance policy. It is the policy my excuse-for-an-ex-husband gets if I croak before the kids are self-sufficient or 19 years old (and we all know which one will come first). With my last child on the cusp of registering for selective service (a whole other posting forthcoming on this dandy topic), I have a year to go on my delightful post marital commitment. My intital thinking is .... 'screw it.' I am not going to pay for a policy for just one more year. But those pesky insurance agents have special ways to lure you in and get you thinking about reasons why you should 'up' for another 10 years of term insurance (an insurance policy where you are wagering that you WILL die before the policy expires). So yes, I caved and agreed to another 10 year policy after a compelling pitch that included a premium lower than my last one. One small catch. A little harmless...... PHYSICAL.
That is when it hit me - I am middle aged. No more policies with the simple one question - do you smoke? Now, the insurance company just wants to "check a few things," such as weight, cholesterol, family history.... Oh, and drug use.
Here is what went down with poor unsuspecting soul who showed up at my door to do the medical exam. I greet him (I am being generous about the greeting part) on crutches - the result of an unsuccessful attempt to trail run with my daughter five days earlier. Let's just say the cards were stacked against him because the exam could only be scheduled at 1:30 pm. This meant fasting all morning. I don't want to underplay the significance of this little scheduling fact. On a typical day where I am expected to be civil, I am transitioning between my second and third grande nonfat latte by this time of the day. 'Medical guy' is trying to draw blood and I am telling my kids - in what can only be described as a forceful way - to get the damn espresso going.
Other small indignities included getting weighed and then observing that he recorded a weight about 15 pounds below what the scale showed. I don't know which is more humiliating: knowing he did this and me not correcting him, or knowing he probably did this because, if he wrote my true weight, the exam would have ended right there.
And then there was the peeing in a cup... in my own bathroom The whole time I am going over in my mind whether I had eaten any poppy seeds or whether the controlled substances I had consumed after spraining my ankle (an event that transpired exactly two hours before I was supposed to don my "garb de academe" and watch the newest crew of unemployed college graduates - except those nursing students :) - pick up their diplomas) would show up in my pee after five days.
Sensing my increasing edginess, medical guy asked me if I was taking anything for the sprained ankle.... at all. I mentioned the obvious - Ibuprofen - and out of fear of my pee blabbing - a leftover painkiller from some previous injury of some other person. I explained nervously that I did it for my students, really. It was my bound duty to watch them "walk." (OK so there were not any of my actual students there. Infact I didn't know a single one of them. But they were technically students at my school.) I am waiting for the feds to pick me up.
More interesting was the smoking question. Have I ever smoked? I am thinking that this is a trick question. Who hasn't smoked something at some time, even if once? Maybe this is a way to make sure that no one ever gets the "preferred rate." I mention this brief period in Kenya, where I dabbled in Dunhills because I couldn't stand eating anymore frybread. He said something about not hearing me and marked "never." I guess smoking 25 years ago ends up being like the whole weight issue - an immediate "preferred rate" dealbreaker.
Welcome to my mid life crisis. At least that is what this year is stacking up to be. The most insane plan yet.... after going to school forever to become a "professor" (quotes are really important for this word cause the heart of being a professor is becoming exceedingly knowledgeable about one microscopic slice of irrelevant reality and, correspondingly, incapable of functioning anymore in the real world) my current plan is.... law school. Or a Harley. Comments?
So what happened at 45?
Started off smoothly. Got a seemingly innocuous reminder to renew my term life insurance policy. It is the policy my excuse-for-an-ex-husband gets if I croak before the kids are self-sufficient or 19 years old (and we all know which one will come first). With my last child on the cusp of registering for selective service (a whole other posting forthcoming on this dandy topic), I have a year to go on my delightful post marital commitment. My intital thinking is .... 'screw it.' I am not going to pay for a policy for just one more year. But those pesky insurance agents have special ways to lure you in and get you thinking about reasons why you should 'up' for another 10 years of term insurance (an insurance policy where you are wagering that you WILL die before the policy expires). So yes, I caved and agreed to another 10 year policy after a compelling pitch that included a premium lower than my last one. One small catch. A little harmless...... PHYSICAL.
That is when it hit me - I am middle aged. No more policies with the simple one question - do you smoke? Now, the insurance company just wants to "check a few things," such as weight, cholesterol, family history.... Oh, and drug use.
Here is what went down with poor unsuspecting soul who showed up at my door to do the medical exam. I greet him (I am being generous about the greeting part) on crutches - the result of an unsuccessful attempt to trail run with my daughter five days earlier. Let's just say the cards were stacked against him because the exam could only be scheduled at 1:30 pm. This meant fasting all morning. I don't want to underplay the significance of this little scheduling fact. On a typical day where I am expected to be civil, I am transitioning between my second and third grande nonfat latte by this time of the day. 'Medical guy' is trying to draw blood and I am telling my kids - in what can only be described as a forceful way - to get the damn espresso going.
Other small indignities included getting weighed and then observing that he recorded a weight about 15 pounds below what the scale showed. I don't know which is more humiliating: knowing he did this and me not correcting him, or knowing he probably did this because, if he wrote my true weight, the exam would have ended right there.
And then there was the peeing in a cup... in my own bathroom The whole time I am going over in my mind whether I had eaten any poppy seeds or whether the controlled substances I had consumed after spraining my ankle (an event that transpired exactly two hours before I was supposed to don my "garb de academe" and watch the newest crew of unemployed college graduates - except those nursing students :) - pick up their diplomas) would show up in my pee after five days.
Sensing my increasing edginess, medical guy asked me if I was taking anything for the sprained ankle.... at all. I mentioned the obvious - Ibuprofen - and out of fear of my pee blabbing - a leftover painkiller from some previous injury of some other person. I explained nervously that I did it for my students, really. It was my bound duty to watch them "walk." (OK so there were not any of my actual students there. Infact I didn't know a single one of them. But they were technically students at my school.) I am waiting for the feds to pick me up.
More interesting was the smoking question. Have I ever smoked? I am thinking that this is a trick question. Who hasn't smoked something at some time, even if once? Maybe this is a way to make sure that no one ever gets the "preferred rate." I mention this brief period in Kenya, where I dabbled in Dunhills because I couldn't stand eating anymore frybread. He said something about not hearing me and marked "never." I guess smoking 25 years ago ends up being like the whole weight issue - an immediate "preferred rate" dealbreaker.
Welcome to my mid life crisis. At least that is what this year is stacking up to be. The most insane plan yet.... after going to school forever to become a "professor" (quotes are really important for this word cause the heart of being a professor is becoming exceedingly knowledgeable about one microscopic slice of irrelevant reality and, correspondingly, incapable of functioning anymore in the real world) my current plan is.... law school. Or a Harley. Comments?
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