The Green Paperclip Necklace
Feb. 8th, 2008 09:32 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mallorys_cameraMost unaccountably, Robin's English teacher wrote him a stunningly positive recommendation for the Monterey Academy of Oceanic Sciences. MAOS is Monterey's version of Smart Kids' High.
I say "unaccountably" because Robin – prodigious reader though he is – has never gotten more than a "C" in English. He just doesn't put any effort into schoolwork. I can understand that – I never put any effort into it either. But I got straight A's. Is that because school was easier in the Dead Old Days? Or because my oh-so-chameleon-like mindset was able instinctually to suss out what They wanted out of me and regurgitate it back to Them?
"In my entire career as a teacher I've only encountered one or two other children of Robin's immense intellectual promise," the teacher wrote.
Okay, I'm paraphrasing. I don't have the recommendation to look at anymore. The teacher wasn't supposed to send it home. It was supposed to be mailed directly to MAOS. I packed the recommendation in Robin's knapsack this morning with a nice note and self-addressed envelope to thank the English teacher for his troubles.
Robin.
Sigh.
Night before last I wake up around 1:30am with a violent need to urinate – just one of the many, many joys of middle age – and discovered Robin awake at his computer, bittorrenting the most recent upgrade of Geek City or whatever shoot-'em-and-leave-'em-to-die-painfully-in-a-congealing-pool-of-their-own-blood video game is currently popular with the skateboard punk set. (Yes, I let him play violent video games! With a thirteen year old, you have to pick your battles wisely and this ain't one I'm prepared to fight.)
No wonder he falls asleep in school.
"You are so-o busted," I said. "We will talk about this tomorrow."
Punishment was no computer access until Monday.
That meant that last night was very unpleasant as Robin alternately tried to bully and coax his way back into computer privileges.
It was a little like dealing with Linda Blair. I kept expecting his head to twirl around 180 degrees, Mercedes McCambridge's voice to issue from his lips: got a quarter for an old choir boy?
"I hate you," he screamed at one point. "Why can't you send me to RLS? You did it for Max! Max got everything."
"Playing the Max card, huh?" I said. "We talked about this before, Robin. It's really hurtful when you say things like that to me because it's like you're blaming me for losing my job. But I understand you're mad and you're lashing out." I took a deep breath. "You may hate me but I love you."
Actually, though, I was lying. Actually at that very moment, I hated the little fucker, would cheerfully have deposited him on the doorstep of the local Children's Protective Agency with a note: free to a bad home…
But being a parent is all about taking the long view. And in the end "love" is not an emotion, it's an intellectual commitment – for whatever reason, you have decided to put this person's interests ahead of your own.
This morning, Robin was sunnier. He made me a little necklace out of green paperclips. I'm wearing it.
I say "unaccountably" because Robin – prodigious reader though he is – has never gotten more than a "C" in English. He just doesn't put any effort into schoolwork. I can understand that – I never put any effort into it either. But I got straight A's. Is that because school was easier in the Dead Old Days? Or because my oh-so-chameleon-like mindset was able instinctually to suss out what They wanted out of me and regurgitate it back to Them?
"In my entire career as a teacher I've only encountered one or two other children of Robin's immense intellectual promise," the teacher wrote.
Okay, I'm paraphrasing. I don't have the recommendation to look at anymore. The teacher wasn't supposed to send it home. It was supposed to be mailed directly to MAOS. I packed the recommendation in Robin's knapsack this morning with a nice note and self-addressed envelope to thank the English teacher for his troubles.
Robin.
Sigh.
Night before last I wake up around 1:30am with a violent need to urinate – just one of the many, many joys of middle age – and discovered Robin awake at his computer, bittorrenting the most recent upgrade of Geek City or whatever shoot-'em-and-leave-'em-to-die-painfully-in-a-congealing-pool-of-their-own-blood video game is currently popular with the skateboard punk set. (Yes, I let him play violent video games! With a thirteen year old, you have to pick your battles wisely and this ain't one I'm prepared to fight.)
No wonder he falls asleep in school.
"You are so-o busted," I said. "We will talk about this tomorrow."
Punishment was no computer access until Monday.
That meant that last night was very unpleasant as Robin alternately tried to bully and coax his way back into computer privileges.
It was a little like dealing with Linda Blair. I kept expecting his head to twirl around 180 degrees, Mercedes McCambridge's voice to issue from his lips: got a quarter for an old choir boy?
"I hate you," he screamed at one point. "Why can't you send me to RLS? You did it for Max! Max got everything."
"Playing the Max card, huh?" I said. "We talked about this before, Robin. It's really hurtful when you say things like that to me because it's like you're blaming me for losing my job. But I understand you're mad and you're lashing out." I took a deep breath. "You may hate me but I love you."
Actually, though, I was lying. Actually at that very moment, I hated the little fucker, would cheerfully have deposited him on the doorstep of the local Children's Protective Agency with a note: free to a bad home…
But being a parent is all about taking the long view. And in the end "love" is not an emotion, it's an intellectual commitment – for whatever reason, you have decided to put this person's interests ahead of your own.
This morning, Robin was sunnier. He made me a little necklace out of green paperclips. I'm wearing it.
