Still teaching, still learning
2.20.09
Sean called last night at something like 10:35, and on my cell phone — all of which alarmed me. Immediately I asked if something was wrong. He seldom calls, and never at that hour, and not usually on my cell phone. He acted surprised that I was concerned and said that the home line had been busy — and it had been. I’d been on the phone with Alex, who’s coming back from his out-of-state job later tonight. (Yay!)
Sean said he was calling, really, just to answer all the questions that I’d been sending his way, and that had been stacking up like so much cordwood. And, he hastened to add, to say that he loves me. (Awww…)
The questions he was calling to answer were starting to go quite a bit back in time, and while I didn’t want to set up some monstrous interrogation of him, I really was curious (and actually needed to know) about lots of things. We got them handled, one by one, with lots of chatting in between, and the conversation even presented some teachable moments about, of all things, thank-you note etiquette and time management.
I had to chuckle when I’d finished on the latter, and he said, “Point taken.” Okay, so maybe I’d gone rather on and on about my point (which was the difference between making a time commitment and protecting it so that other things don’t encroach on it because it means a lot to you to carry it out, vs. just playing it by ear all the time, being at the mercy of whatever else comes along, and often missing out on things as a result because you didn’t commit), but I said in my defense that I’m realizing that I may not have sent him out into the world with proper training on certain things. Some things aren’t givens for children and teenagers the way they are for adults, and as a parent, you may not even realize that you forgot to give training — or didn’t give full, adequate training anyway — on certain things until they present themselves later.
The first teachable moment was my take on when it’s necessary to send a written thank-you note, when it’s optional but encouraged, and when it’s nice but not essential. (These teachable moments — when executed well and received well — make me feel like I still have at least a tiny bit on the ball…)
Anyway, he’d been a good kitty and had sent the thank-you note in question (on the stationery that we’d bought together at Target this summer for just such occasions, and using the stamps that I’d sent along on move-in day in August), and he seemed to understand my utterly profound pontifications on the finer points of both topics. Damn, I’m good. And damn, he’s good, too. He thanked me and said that he realizes he still has some things to learn and can benefit from receiving these lessons. Pinch me!
As I say, it was a good conversation — lots of “business” got accomplished, but we also had a lot of dishing along the way. There was even some sharing about how he’s feeling like maybe he’s not quite who he thought he was while he was in high school. I chalk it up to the phenomenon of the relative size of fish and ponds, and you’re bound to do some self-reevaluation. Which he is.
I’m trying to tell him that he doesn’t have to keep up the grades or the accomplishments that he’s had in the past — that it’s okay to be average. I am. Most people are.
I don’t think he wants to believe me, though, and I didn’t want to believe my parents either when they told me the very same thing throughout high school and college. But I think that even if my words don’t sink in, life will — and is — teaching Sean this lesson.
But average or not, I’ll love him always, no matter what.
Sean said he was calling, really, just to answer all the questions that I’d been sending his way, and that had been stacking up like so much cordwood. And, he hastened to add, to say that he loves me. (Awww…)
The questions he was calling to answer were starting to go quite a bit back in time, and while I didn’t want to set up some monstrous interrogation of him, I really was curious (and actually needed to know) about lots of things. We got them handled, one by one, with lots of chatting in between, and the conversation even presented some teachable moments about, of all things, thank-you note etiquette and time management.
I had to chuckle when I’d finished on the latter, and he said, “Point taken.” Okay, so maybe I’d gone rather on and on about my point (which was the difference between making a time commitment and protecting it so that other things don’t encroach on it because it means a lot to you to carry it out, vs. just playing it by ear all the time, being at the mercy of whatever else comes along, and often missing out on things as a result because you didn’t commit), but I said in my defense that I’m realizing that I may not have sent him out into the world with proper training on certain things. Some things aren’t givens for children and teenagers the way they are for adults, and as a parent, you may not even realize that you forgot to give training — or didn’t give full, adequate training anyway — on certain things until they present themselves later.
The first teachable moment was my take on when it’s necessary to send a written thank-you note, when it’s optional but encouraged, and when it’s nice but not essential. (These teachable moments — when executed well and received well — make me feel like I still have at least a tiny bit on the ball…)
Anyway, he’d been a good kitty and had sent the thank-you note in question (on the stationery that we’d bought together at Target this summer for just such occasions, and using the stamps that I’d sent along on move-in day in August), and he seemed to understand my utterly profound pontifications on the finer points of both topics. Damn, I’m good. And damn, he’s good, too. He thanked me and said that he realizes he still has some things to learn and can benefit from receiving these lessons. Pinch me!
As I say, it was a good conversation — lots of “business” got accomplished, but we also had a lot of dishing along the way. There was even some sharing about how he’s feeling like maybe he’s not quite who he thought he was while he was in high school. I chalk it up to the phenomenon of the relative size of fish and ponds, and you’re bound to do some self-reevaluation. Which he is.
I’m trying to tell him that he doesn’t have to keep up the grades or the accomplishments that he’s had in the past — that it’s okay to be average. I am. Most people are.
I don’t think he wants to believe me, though, and I didn’t want to believe my parents either when they told me the very same thing throughout high school and college. But I think that even if my words don’t sink in, life will — and is — teaching Sean this lesson.
But average or not, I’ll love him always, no matter what.
