Not So Blonde

Let’s get the embarrassing part out of the way first…

We’ll move to the “mortifying” portion in a bit.

I cried.

In the Principal’s office.

In Dr. (Very Professional) D’s office.

Rest assured, M was not in the room when I made a spectacle of myself, so there’s that. Let me also say, I didn’t blubber but I did let a few tears fall where they may…

M’s dad was running late so Dr. D and I had about 10 minutes alone. He was sweet, handed me tissue, told me not to blame myself, said it’s not the end of the road for M and the program.

I could go on and on about it, in fact, I did. But I’ll just save that particular post in my drafts and give you the highlights.

There is nothing worse than seeing your kid upset and there’s not shit you can do about it. That was pretty much the gist of the whole meeting.

The mature part of me should probably not share this, but, the bitchy part will… since I suspect it was a big reason why Mrs. Baby Phat Einstein didn’t show her face at this particular conference.

The one and only reason why M can’t continue with the program is due to his continued failing grade in Algebra II. Math sucks. Except for you smartie pants out there that math comes easy to you, I know you’re out there! You lucky ducks!

Apparently, Mrs. BPE is one of those mathematical geniuses-amongst-us. She has never failed to mention this fact in every previous meeting we’ve had so the last time the dad and I talked on the phone I asked some pointed questions.

“Does (your wife) sit down with M and tutor him in math?”
“Did the friend you said you knew, the mathematician, come by like you said he would and help M with his math homework?”
“Do you get up early in order to get M to school before 7am so he can attend the tutoring sessions offered by his instructor?”

No, no and no. I’d stay away, too, if I were her. Don’t come if you’re just going to talk. Talk is cheap.

Another highlight: Dr. D asked if M pulled back from his classes once he knew he’d have to be withdrawn from the program and M said no, he told Dr. D it made him work harder.

Normally, I never speak for M when he and Dr. D are speaking directly to each other but this time, I did.

I thought it important for Dr. D to know M attended a Biology tutoring session in preparation for his final, a session that started at 8am this past Saturday and lasted all day. I don’t know about you but that’s about the last thing I’d want to do with my time. On a Saturday. At age 14. Or, 36.

Dr. D was visibly taken aback by this and said, “Wow. That shows a true depth of character, M.”

Cue my heart thumping out of my chest with pride: *thump thump thump*

Dr. D went on some more about how M was easily the most improved amongst all of the students in the program, but a step back is necessary for his education, for college, and for his future.

We get it. Thanks for playing.

Not to sound flippant but it’s hard. Honestly, I don’t care what M does. He could take regular classes, he could take AP classes, he could take French (a desire he mentioned and was promptly shot down by his dad), he could pick up violin, ballet. I DON’T CARE. If my son is happy, I’m happy. End of story.

Now to the mortifying part. Other than the dad, once again, talked more about himself than he did M in Dr. D’s office. Here we are, AGAIN, wasting Dr. D’s valuable time listening to Bymoron speak at length of his misbegotten baseball career. Much ado about nothing. Other than a multitude of base on balls.

After Dr. D’s session, we moved to M’s guidance counselor’s office to reassign his classes for the upcoming semester.

This is when it became real for M, and I could tell he was getting more upset. His eyes got the cast of wanting to cry, but he stayed strong and we got through it.

Bridget asked M what his favorite class was in Univ HS and M said Creative Writing. Sadly, not offered in the regular HS curriculum. Piss.

Dr. D popped his head in and asked how it was going and I appreciated it. I could tell he cares. I know he wants to see M back in the program his Sophomore year.

Bridget suggested that M may be a good candidate to be a writer for the school paper, despite the fact that Freshman are rarely allowed to participate.

Bridget asked M if it was something he’d truly be interested in. If so, she’d go to bat for him since his circumstances are a bit different than normal and she wanted to give him something to be excited about.

M completely perked up but I still asked if he was serious about it enough to have Bridget lobby on his behalf. He said yes, that he thought he’d enjoy it. I mentioned that Uncle Jay was on his own HS and college newspapers and he’d be a great source of help and information. My brother Jay is a brilliant writer, if I do say so myself.

This is when… wait for it…

The dad couldn’t take that we spoke of anyone’s abilities without interjecting something about himself so he piped up with:

“I write screenplays. I’m a screenwriter.”

Kill me now. Let the ground swallow me up, and let the world forget I ever thought this man was worthy enough to date, much less marry. STOP IT RIGHT NOW.

After we got M’s classes squared away M, his dad and I walked to our cars and M went home with his dad. Not before I hugged him, said I was proud of him, told him I’d support him with everything he was willing to work for and we’d get through it. We will get through it.

On the way home, I stopped for a Happy Meal, washed my kid-sized cheeseburger down with a glass of wine and watched Real Housewives of OC. Just another day in the life.