Aidan and I are arguing on the back roads of Vermont. He is furious I am making him skip a day of our ski vacation to attend a class and tour of Bennington College.
“You act like I am taking you to a gulag,” I say sarcastically, squeezing the steering wheel until my fingers turn white.
“I’m sorry that I don’t want to go to school on my vacation!” he says while texting his girlfriend at the same time. My thoughts are flying as fast as the white lines, trying to find words that will wake him from the hormonal coma he seems to have fallen into making him completely apathetic to his future, his life and seemingly everything.
“Well, I’m not doing this for me. I’m doing this for YOU!” I hiss wondering why everything I say lately sounds like a cliché’, a 50’s sitcom, akin to there are people starving in Ethiopia.
Recently I was out to dinner with friends in Brooklyn. They were excited that their kids had gotten into their first choice colleges. One was going to Brown, the other to Wesleyan, the third was already at Middlebury and while I was happy for all of them, I squirmed in my seat and ordered another wine recognizing the feeling I often have when it comes to these things: slightly outside normal.
School has never been easy for Aidan. He never drew in the lines or even on the line, he read in between them. By second grade, Aidan was diagnosed with ADHD (Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder) a learning difference that has been met with impatience, confusion and a lot of eye rolling, even from me. Medication and a few compassionate teachers along the way have helped, but overall, school was never a place where Aidan felt good about himself.
“I don’t like doing taxes, but I have to,” I say when Aidan complains about homework or tests. I have become a stereotype: a sighing, frustrated, annoyed parent who picks up wet towels, replaces empty rolls of toilet paper and turns out lights reciting facts about carbon footprints, global warming and waste. I can feel Aidan tuning me out. To him, I have become the Charlie Brown teacher; a hollow, meaningless voice. I recently discovered he has me in his phone under “Evil Warlord”. He was looking for his phone and used mine to call. It was on my bed when I heard the theme music for Darth Vader. Nice.
I speed into the Visitors parking lot. where there is already a tour starting. Aidan sighs when I turn off the engine.
“This sucks.” he says.
“Well if they have a PhD program for being obnoxious, you should do well” I say slamming the door so hard the group turns toward us.
The perky female tour guide walks backwards past pastoral barns, quaint dorms and sunny classrooms listing the seemingly endless amount of groups and activities she is involved in. Aidan hangs toward the back of the group texting his girlfriend, refusing to ask questions.
“Oooh, Nice theater” I say as the perky student shows us the pristine theater where two teenagers with nose rings and tattoos are painting a set. Perhaps it is my age and my memory that makes me feel nostalgic for my college years where I acted in plays, questioned my existence in philosophy class and chain smoked with my friends in the library.
Why doesn’t Aidan want this?
“Do you know how lucky you are?” I ask sliding into my seat when the tour is over. “Do you even care at ALL? “
“Yes! These tours are just boring, that’s all,“ he mumbles staring out the window, the endless texts beeping in. I imagine snatching his phone and throwing it out the window. Instead, I look in the rear view mirror at the empty back seat. I can see Aidan strapped into his car seat at five years old, smiling, singing at the top of his lungs a song about planets he learned on a television show.
I drive the twisting back roads behind Bennington, lost in the memories of how close Aidan and I once were, bonded more tightly than ever by the mutual loss of his father. I sigh, knowing Aidan,by being obnoxious is simply doing his job so it will be easier to let him go..
“Race and Place in Urban America sounds like a good class” Aidan says . He is actually looking through the thick catalogue of courses. I nod and smile slightly. He will be seventeen next week and he has thinned out, growing tall and handsome, a mop of curls forming around his face .
“Yeah. Sounds very cool.” I say, pretending not to care.
I want to tell him about a sit-in at Sarah Lawrence when I was there , how the students shut the school down for ten days demanding more black teachers and students. Instead, I drive in silence, noticing the patches of brown where the snow has melted, spring hiding patiently below the surface.
Oh Marian once again you’ve managed to capture and put in to words what all of us have experienced in one way or another with our teenage children. Another path on the road to adulthood for Aiden (and all of our kids); another lesson in frustration for you (and every parent of a teenager)! We want so much for them to “see the light” (translation — what we think is right) all the while enjoying and embracing their independent thinking and plans. As a mother of mid to late 20-somethings all I can say is that it will all work out in the end. Aiden will choose what makes him happy and comfortable and you will look around and see that, yes, you truly did survive this particular part of the journey (although those extra grey hairs on your head and lines on your face will be a testament to all that it took to get there!) Hang in there and breathe! At times bite your tongue, at times go and scream in the shower! Whatever it takes! Just know that you have done a terrific job raising one special kid (btw I saw him on Sunday and to me he still is that 5 year old that you talked of! Still a sweetheart, polite and adorable (although I need to step on my tippy toes to hug him now!)
Thanks Denise!! xoxoxo
I love when I stumble upon these entries…enjoyed this one, as usual. I love that we all get to be obnoxious at some point in our lives, and mostly don’t even know we are at the time, and don’t believe it when people (read: parents) tell us we are. Gives us something to look back on and cringe…and realize just exactly how wise the parents were all along.
Thank you!!!!
Hi Marian, I just finished reading your book”Widow’s Walk”. Every year, at around nearing an anniversary of 911, I do my own private way of remembering by reading books about it. Your book is awe-inspiring! I’m really glad to have come upon your blog, which I like. Your son Aiden, is handsome as always, and you have raised him to be a fine young man. I really admire the love that Dave and You had, it is beautiful. I also see that you have found love again, which I think is good! You are awesome writer, mom, friend, and blogger! Thank you for writing, “Widow’s Walk!”
Thank you Janie for reading a Widows Walk and for your lovely note.
Hi Marian,
Reading this story reminds me of my Mom forcing me into school tours nearly 15 years ago. I was so mad at her because as a busy senior, my weekends were precious to me and driving any number of hours to go on a boring tour was not my idea of how the process should work. It was a time in my life where I got more mail that I could count. Brochures, letters, catalogs… by the dozen, daily. Overwhelming for sure. What my Mom never saw was me browsing through them in my room, looking up the school’s website or taking the brochure to school and talking to my friends about the various things we’ve received. To have the added stress of my Mom telling me that I wasn’t taking it seriously or not doing enough was upsetting on so many levels. We had (and still do have) very different approaches for making decisions, and neither way is wrong, but it is hard to understand the other side.
So, imagine how frustrated and furious I was when my Mom picked up the mail one day, saw an invitation to one of these tours and sent the RSVP back. I learned that I’d be touring this random school over supper that night. This was a school that I had zero interest in, it did not have a very good program for the majors that I was considering and it was not a school that spoke to me on paper. Would she let me cancel? No!
Finally, I had to tell my Mom that the tours and things weren’t something I wanted to do for every school and to trust me – when I know where I want to apply, it’ll come to me and I’ll let her know. She says that I told her God would lead me to a school, but that doesn’t sound like something I’d say.
Then one day, I got a brochure for a school and when I picked it up, somehow I knew that’s where I should go. They had a great program for my major, weren’t too expensive and was just the right distance from home. We scheduled to attend a campus tour and the very second that I got out of the car, I felt at home. That was it, search over. When I picked up that brochure at home, my gut knew that’s where I was supposed to go. I had an amazing 4 years and I’m sure your son will find his place too.
I tell you my story, to let you know that while you may not think that he is taking this very seriously or being very active in his search, I’m betting that his is busy processing this in his own way and incredibly stressed about the seriousness of the decision that he’s making. I remember feeling very overwhelmed and stressed out but trying very hard to show that I was an adult and could handle it and not show the stress on the outside. He sounds a lot like me at 17, so I’m guessing he’s feeling pretty similar and trying to handle it on his own.
The best thing that my parents did was tell me that no matter where I went to school, they would support me and do what they could to visit the school, talk to professors and help me with the application if I needed it. I hope that he finds his college home and has an amazing time! (not too amazing, but amazing in all the right ways.)
Thanks Emily. I needed that!
Thanks Emily. Great story and gives me hope!