Tag Archives: children

Can’t take the road if you don’t know it’s there

dreamWhat do you want to be when you grow up? We ask children the question all of the time. With the Dude getting ready for college, it’s sort of omnipresent in our house.

I was chatting with a young composer and his parents over coffee a few weeks ago. I asked his mother if she had any sense that he might be musical when he was young. She told me that when he was small, he’d  cover his ears and cry when the choir sang at church each week. She asked him why, and he said “because they are out of tune!” When he told her that she was humming a song in the incorrect key, she knew he had a gift.

I think my husband was that way. He liked to build with Erector sets and gears and engines. His father tells me that he was always methodical and driven to get things just right. he always loved the concept of space, and alternative worlds, and science fiction. Not surprisingly, he has a PhD in Computer Science. He builds worlds with programming languages, and systems. He is brilliant.

How great it must be to have a sense of who you are and what you’re meant to be from such an early age. When I was little, I remember playing house, and school, and nurse. I remember wanting to be an actress, or a singer, or an ice skater. I wanted to be an artist, and a writer, and an interior designer. Maybe a chef, or a teacher. I haven’t changed much. I still want to be everything, to do everything. I don’t want to choose.

When my son was little, he wanted to be an excavator (yes, an excavator), then an astronaut, then a garbage man, then the guy that waves the cars forward at the car wash. Dream big, little man. Then he wanted to be a soldier, a filmmaker and then a teacher. Now he’s interested in advertising and marketing.

When he gets to college, assuming he’s still interested in business, he’ll have his classes pretty much set for him. Undergraduate business programs look more like MBA programs these days, with tons of prerequisites that need to be completed in the first two years. It doesn’t leave much time for exploration. Luckily I wasn’t locked in too early–I went into college as an accounting major and it took two years to figure out that I really had no interest in accounting. I switched over to Marketing. I’m not even sure there way any paperwork involved.

I know that it’s practical, all of this specialization. But if I don’t know what I want to be at 48, how is my son supposed to know at 16? I feel like I’ve redefined myself over and over again–shifted and blurred and come back into focus as something new. It’s part of what makes life interesting. I worry that our culture pushes kids to make mature, adult decisions before they are ready and mistakes it for progress. I wish my son had more time to dream, and ponder and see alternative futures. Right now, he wants to get done. Get to the answer, move on to the next question until whatever he’s doing is over, so he can get back to playing basketball, or X-box, or watch videos on YouTube.

There is so much more to life than being done. The doing should be the thing, yes? The joy in the doing?  The roads may look pretty defined at the moment, but I hope my son keeps an eye open for a hidden trail or two. You never know what you might find. Could be a case of poison ivy. Then again, it might be some quiet tranquil spot where stories grow. Oh wait, this is his paradise–a KFC and an X-Box. At least for now. Tomorrow it might be something different. Like I said, dream big little man. Dream big.

Words by J. B. Everett

Photograph – “Dreaming” by H. KoppDelaney © 2008 Creative Commons

 

College Tours, or better make it a double

rotundaThis week we took the Dude on his first college tours. He’s been on college campuses before, during summer camps or school competitions, but never with the context of I might be spending four years here.  We only visited two public universities, both on the small side of large. We didn’t want to totally overwhelm him. We started slow, only attending  admissions overview sessions and the student led tours. With the number of students attending these sessions, no one we met is likely to remember the Dude, which is just as well, since he’s unlikely to remember any of them either, except for one of our tour guides. She was exceptionally attractive.

We learned a lot about academic programs, the admissions process, and all that jazz, but I learned a few other things too. Let me share them with you.

1) I am no longer in my 20′s. I have always viewed my age as somewhat amorphous. My definition of “old” changes every year. Despite acting rather grown up at a young age, I have never really felt like a grown up. Not until now. These kids are young. Really young. I am not. The comparison is quite striking.

2) Their classes are designed with them in mind, not the faculty’s interests. They don’t sit in classrooms and study post-modern poetry or Medieval art. They have seminars on Latin-based Harry Potter spells. Apparently “Expecto Patronum” means “Summon my lawyer.” Ironic, isn’t it? A soul sucking demon scared off by a lawyer?

Personally, I would kick butt in a Harry Potter seminar, and I’m old enough to buy my own Firewhiskey. I would also love to sit in a classroom and discuss why Dickens is still relevant today. It would be even better if I could do it over a bottle or two of wine. It think this is a viable business idea. My college for parents who still think they are 20 would rock.

3) They are really into Harry Potter. The student tour guides gush that their student lounges look just like Hogwarts. The administrators gush that their student lounges look just like Hogwarts. They have Quiddich teams. I wanted to see a match, however, they weren’t playing while we were there. They run around on brooms. Do you think this means they actually know how to use them? Me neither.

4) They eat a whole lot better than I did in college. Their cafeterias aren’t really cafeterias. They are like restaurant food courts. I didn’t see any Hot Chili Fritos, or ice-cream scoop-shaped mashed potatoes. They have food trucks and latte bars, and Chick Fil A. Has the freshman 15 become the freshman 30? Doesn’t look like it. They are all very fit. Must be all that Quiddich.

5) Dorm rooms are still overheated. Every window was open and had two fans; one bringing air in, one pushing air out. It was about 40 degrees outside.

6) College admissions personnel have seen it all, and we parents are all completely transparent. UVA knows our favorite word isn’t “rotunda” and UNC knows that wearing Carolina blue nail polish isn’t “on accident.” It also makes one look a little cyanotic. I don’t recommend it.

7) I love the whole “secret society” thing. I’m starting one of my own. I can’t tell you much about it, however, because it’s a secret.

8) On the whole, college students look happy, engaged, and seem pretty passionate about what they are doing. I have hope for the species. They don’t resemble the hordes of disaffected high school students that frequent the local Starbucks. Even the Dude told me yesterday that he was tired of his friend saying that everything sucked all of the time, because in actuality, it really doesn’t. I also have hope for my son.

Most of all, it reminds me that my time with the Dude is not infinite. He didn’t lock himself in a closet, swearing to never leave home, nor did he express that he couldn’t wait to leave. I suppose it’s a baby step for all of us, and this is only the beginning. We’re making a list. Only 20 universities to go. I could use some more Firewhiskey.

Words by J. B. Everett

Photograph “Rotunda” by Tim Jarret © 2004 Creative Commons

You Can’t Stop the Hunt

easterMy son celebrated his first Easter at his Great Aunt Timmy’s house. He was just under two at the time, just barely walking. Given his age, we hadn’t really done anything to mark the day. We hadn’t even talked to him about Easter. We had just moved to California, and were still settling in. We hadn’t even unpacked all of our boxes, let alone found a church.

Timmy, however, was two steps ahead of us.  When we got to her house, she had an Easter egg hunt already set up. She’d filled plastic eggs with candies and goldfish, along with matchbox trucks (the Dude’s favorite thing on the planet). At first, the Dude was confused about what he was supposed to do. When she lead him to the first egg, he tried to put it in his mouth, as children will do. When she opened it for him and he saw that there were M&M’s inside, that was all the explanation he required. He was on an Easter egg search and destroy mission.

The next year, when Easter rolled around again, we knew that we couldn’t slack off this time. The Dude’s expectations were already set. Once he went to bed, my husband and I hid the eggs, along with a big basket with some candy and gifts from my mother, who also knows how to do up Easter. We had the camera ready, and were looking forward to taking him downstairs and watching him tear around the house looking for hidden goodies.

Usually, the Dude would wake us up by running into our room and jumping into bed with us. Easter morning, however, we woke up to a rustling sound outside of our bedroom doorway. I called out to the Dude, who then toddled in, face completely covered with chocolate, toting a half-unwrapped Easter book from the basket my mother had put together.

“Look Momma!”

He’d found every single egg, plus the basket, and hauled the whole shebang upstairs. At that point, I knew we’d crossed some sort of Rubicon. He wasn’t going to wait for us. Not anymore. If he knew there was something out there that he wanted and could get his hands on it, he would.

There was a moment of letdown. A knee-jerk reaction to say “Dude, you shouldn’t have done that.” Luckily, both my husband and I held back. Did we really want to tell him not to explore the world? We never told him not to find the eggs. We didn’t tell him to wait for us. He hadn’t disobeyed, or broken any rules. He’d been self sufficient.  So we did the only thing we could.

“Come show us.”

I knew by his sugary yellow lips that the Peeps were toast.  He held a toy cement mixer in his hand. “Simimi!” I loved his word for it, so I didn’t correct him. He’d learn the word soon enough. Simimi would be a short-lived joy. Another thing he’d grow out of that I’d be left to remember fondly.

We stopped doing an Easter Egg hunt a long time ago. My mom still sends a basket, which the Dude loves, and one of my sisters sends a goodie box, which he also loves. I buy Peeps and Cadbury Eggs to celebrate Lent. I like doing things backwards. I’ll do my atonement after Easter, when the candy is gone. I still have the cement mixer though. When I hold it in my hand, I can almost feel the weight of my son in my arms. It’s a reminder, that no matter how old he gets, no matter how far off he goes to find what he’s looking for, he’ll want to show me the Simimi if I ask him to. I can’t keep him from the journey, all I can ask is that he share the details. Except for the dating stuff. That, he can keep to himself.

Words by J. B. Everett

Photograph by Jeff Petersen © 2008 Creative Commons