Mom's the Word

Last Thursday night, I got a text from Nathan. He asked me if it was all right if he stayed overnight, because he wanted to go over his college essay with me. I said that was fine, and I’d see him when he got home.

I was surprised that Nathan was in a hurry to finish his essay and even more surprised that he was in a hurry to finish something that involved writing. Nathan wasn’t a writer; well, he could be one when he wanted to. But, being a writer finished far below “D&D,” “X-box,” "Magic cards," “breathing,” “sleeping,” and “eating.”

I could only think of one reason for Nathan’s sense of urgency. It was his Dad. I didn’t ask, but where there was anxiety in Nathan’s life, there always seemed to be Nathan’s Dad.

I’m not saying Nathan’s Dad was mean or evil; he’s a great guy. Parents, no matter whether they are married or not, always bring their own set of issues into the parent-child relationship. Quinn seemed to bring out Nathan’s anxiety. I had pre-packaged my issue in Nathan in the womb; that would be lack of self-confidence.

Earlier in the week, Nathan had asked me if I would read his college application essay. I said that I would. After reading it, I then asked, “Has anyone else read this?” It appeared to me that no one else had read it.

Nathan told me that his Dad and his stepmother had read it; upon hearing that from Nathan, I knew then that an engineer and a scientist had read it. (Nota Bene: While I am saying that some engineers and scientists write well, I am also saying that some don't. So there.) After seeing numerous sentence fragments, misspellings, and thoughts didn’t have points to illustrate them, I said, “I’ll look this over once more, and we can review it later.”

I’d be the first to admit that I’m not perfect. In fact, if you read back through my blog, I’ve admitted this many times. My blogs have mistakes in them; I’m sure of this. But, my blog is not the college essay that’s going to make the difference between getting into UMaine or SUNY Stony Brook.

I read through Nathan’s essay, which despite the mistakes, was a very good story about his trip to Budapest in June. Actually, when he arrived back from his trip that cost $3700, I asked how it was. I received the twenty-five cent reply which was “Good.”

After I spent all that money (well, half of that), I felt that I was entitled to a “Good” and one more complete sentence. Thinking about it before opening my mouth, I realized that I didn’t want to use up my monthly quota of personal questions for Nathan in ten minutes over Europe.

So, being a good pay-for-the-trip-but-don’t-ask-too-many-questions-ever kind of Mom, I chose to write my own sentences about Nathan’s trip. “On the flight, the food was good.” “When I looked at the buildings in the city, I realized how good the architect was.” “I didn’t think the beer was good!” Of course, that last one was my favorite and true; one of my few IM messages from the trip was “Oh, and I still don’t like beer.”

At least when I read his story, I felt like I received a dollar’s worth more of information, even if the trip had occurred over three months ago. In hindsight, even if I had been in the dark about his trip, I was able to ask “How’s your love life?” a few weeks ago and get “Non-existent” as a response. It was so not worth asking about Europe just for that tidbit I received about Nathan’s personal life.

When Nathan arrived home on Thursday night, I could tell he wasn’t happy. It must have been his tired face which was accentuated with a miserable frown. The whole grumpy package was only enhanced by the overloaded back pack slung over one shoulder and the pile of books, weighing 30 pounds easily, that he carried in his hands.

I don’t ever remember school weighing that much when I was Nathan’s age. The amount of textbooks he carried had always amazed me. Somehow I thought I should have been the one carrying more books back then, because we didn’t have the Internet; and what good is the Internet now if it isn’t to lessen the load of information carried in the back pack and in the arms?!

I made the mistake of asking, “Are you ready to go over the essay now?” Nathan sighed and said quite perturbed, “Mom, I’ve got other homework to do first!” Sensing I should be tiptoeing now by the lion with the thorn in its paw, I asked softly, “Should we do it another night?”

He snapped, “No! I have to have it done tonight.” I laughed, which was again probably the wrong thing to do. I asked, “So, is tomorrow the last day to have college applications in or what? Why does this have to be done tonight if you’ve got too many other things to do?”

Nathan gave me the evil eye. He said, “Dad wants me to have it done tonight.” Just then, I had a déjà vu; I had been here before with Nathan. Actually, I had been stuck between Nathan and Quinn; well, I wasn’t really stuck between them. I knew I had to be the go between in this situation.

I said, “Let’s do it this weekend instead.” Nathan said again, “But, Dad wants it done tonight.” I said, “Nathan, you’ve got homework to do, and it’s already 8pm. The essay can wait until the weekend.”

Before I could finish my the-essay-can-wait speech, Nathan turned and began to trudge upstairs with his 50 pounds of high school weighing heavily on his mind and his body. I followed him up to his room. I said, “I’ll call your Dad, and I tell him that it will get done on Saturday.”

I could tell Nathan was stressed out. He started talking in that voice I know all too well from Isabelle and from myself. It was the “I’m talking but I’m almost ready to cry” voice.

Nathan said, “No, Mom. He said tonight.” I said, “Nathan, that’s ridiculous.” Nathan plunked down his 50 pounds of high school on the bed and reached for some light-weight but heavy-duty comfort that was tiger-striped, furry, and answered to the name of Thunderbolt.

I picked up the phone and dialed Quinn. Quinn answered, and I said, “Nathan’s got too much to do tonight. He can come over on Saturday, and we’ll go over his essay then.” Of course, Quinn said quite easily, “Okay.”

For a father and son that were pretty close, there were often disconnects when it came to conversation. Nathan had a voice and was afraid to speak his thoughts. Again, this was something I prepackaged in him; oddly, after being almost on mute the last ten years, I was finally starting to turn my volume up.

I hung up the phone and entered Nathan’s room. He was on his bed with his books spread out on his comforter and his notebook and Thunderbolt in his lap. I said, “Your Dad said Saturday is fine.”

He looked up. He then sighed and stroked Thunderbolt’s head. As I saw the relief melt away the miserable frown to reveal a set of lips that would quickly kiss Thunderbolt on the head, he said quite surprisingly, “Thank you.”

I said, “Nathan, nothing can’t be discussed. I know it’s hard for you to speak to your Dad sometimes, but I’m here, and I’m here to help you talk to your Dad.” He didn’t say anything; he only shook his head up and down. I said, “When you can’t find the words, Nathan, remember, Mom’s the word.” ♥