The Profiles of 'Success'

My son is a teenager and in the second semester of his second year at college.
He's new to it, but he is also determined and will find his way to success on his own terms.

My husband is over fifty, an academic and on faculty at the same college.
Say no more.

The two of them are like oil and water most days; generationally, culturally, and philosophically.

I am the carafe that holds them in contact with one another.
It's a tough job.

The three of us have very different perspectives, yet we must co-mingle in some places. Inevitably, two of us form a pair and one of us plays the Outlier. Sometimes all three of us must try to arrive from our own perspectives at one common place. This is always the hardest task regardless the topic from the silly or mundane to those more important. Lately, and because my son is in college, we are attempting to determine what 'success' means to each of us - and find some common ground. We don't even agree on where that is most days. . .

What or how adamantly to apply that label to - well . . . anything is no small chore and demands diplomacy levels and patience on par with United Nations negotiations. Our lives in this space become too closely bonded and we crash wildly and headstrong into one another in sort of the way I would imagine asteroids plow into planets and the effects those impacts have on the other. Except there are three of us. More planets, more asteroids, more collisions, more damage, more change.

Are you beginning to get the magnitude of such a small definition?

Because we hold differing points of view, the routes from which we arrive at like points have vastly different paths. These days our individual definitions of  'success' are like three different maps of three different countries in three different languages. We have different origins, we have different ideas about what 'success' looks like, acts like and where it lives.
Have you ever been to one of those painting parties where you and your friends all attempt to re-paint your personal copy of the same picture? None of them ever look the same at the end. Yet, somehow they all turn out just right for whomever painted it? It's kind of like that for the three of us. Except the subject of success and who gets to define it for whom seems to be a hot button. Whereas art appreciation? Not so much. At least not in our family.

What the last six months has taught me is; despite that we have each arrived at the same "Paint 'n' Party" destination out of necessity is that 'telephone' is a real game. And we play it every day whether we intend to or not.

How could all of us be so alike and so different at the same? Individuality is a beautiful thing. Most times.

At this party one of us doesn't want to have anything to do with the painting party - only feels obligated to be there and spends time looking up "painting" in the dictionary as though the rest of us are ignorant as to what we are doing, The other doesn't really like painting or getting their hands dirty so is making an online tutorial to post on YouTube complete with painting examples, places to purchase paints, an assortment of brushes and their best applications along with the comments from others. And finally, the third is just looking at all the dried out paints, the shoddy brushes they've been provided and is secretly trying to think of the best way to transform the overused, garage sale fodder of an example into something that they may actually want to display somewhere - otherwise, it's a monumental waste of time.

Our definitions of 'Success' stop being similar immediately after we move beyond the point that we use the same alpha characters to represent the idea and they are in the same order.
S  U  C  C  E  S  S
At least two of us do, the third thinks in a language other than English.
I know, it's complicated, right?

More important, before the three of us arrived here, we did not understand why any of this was important - so it's been a long road for each of us. We were each simply 'right' and never doubted our understanding - ever.

Our mutual and different ideas are so hard to reconcile because they are all correct and appropriate. Yet, does that mean that they have to be mutually inclusive? or exclusive? I don't believe it does. I'm afraid that this is another area where we have a hard time agreeing.

For a while I wasn't convinced that these definitions needed to be reconciled, I now believe they might - for the sake of revealing expectations (and protecting my sanity). This task gives me reason to consider whose definition is most important - which I haven't been able to figure out. That idea might be incorrect. I don't see why one needs to be more important than another. They are all important and relevant. I believe it might be more necessary to understand and accept one another's terms than it is to fall in line behind one and disregard the others. This is still a democracy, right?
Is there no room for interpretation?

What is art without interpretation?

We are three headstrong, opinionated and individual people so this will be the most difficult aspect of this process. For each of us, a certain amount of compromise will be required. Not one of us, or two of us, but each of us in part must be willing to both concede, respect and accept.

The difficult part as a parent is being agile enough to move from being an active decision implementer in a child's' life to being only an influencer. In other words, I (we) cannot expect to tell our son what to do any longer. He is 20 years old. I can only give him guidance, tell him my experiences and let him know that I support what ever he chooses - then let him go free to make his own choices.
This is a lot harder for my husband who sees things in much more pragmatic and linear terms - as well as obligatory - when they are necessarily bound to the strings (bridge cables) of the bank account that pays our son's way through this educational maze.
He so badly wants to be able to make demands and require certain behaviors because he offers financial support. Sometimes he can and then he is happy. But much of the time he cannot and it irritates him to the point of apoplexy. He hates that he cannot coerce and control how is his intentions are valued by others.

My son is 20. He is Autistic. He made the decision to go away to college on his own. He decided, with help from advisers, which classes to take and what his area of study would be. He made it through the first year of school on his own terms. He passed all his classes and joined a Bible Study group and held a student job on campus. He worked very hard at making friends. He diligently attended every sporting, social, academic and entertainment and or health-club event that the school and community offered. Sometimes at the sacrifice of his grades - but he did it. His priority was to make friends and be strong enough to leave my home. He didn't especially care about his grades so long as he passed. What he really wanted was friends. He went to college to learn to make friends. Most of us learn this in kindergarten. My son has been struggling with this all his life. I suppose he decided to accomplish this AND a college curriculum.
He made it.

He still needs help remembering to do his laundry, take out the trash or turn in homework and papers and projects. He refuses to remember to bring plates, glasses and half-eaten snacks back to the kitchen from wherever he was when he ate them. He doesn't understand why putting a dirty fork in his desk drawer or the remains of his meal in his backpack or pockets and leaving it there for an eternity presents any sort of a problem - sanitary, organizational or otherwise.

He will probably always need the support of someone. Who of us doesn't really? Isn't it always nicer to have someone baking us up? Despite how capable we are?
These days, he is happiest when he finds that he actually can cope with problems, find solutions and work through trouble - on his own as much as possible. If he cannot, he knows he can call. we'll be there. we may not agree, but we'll be there as best we can.

I am the Lion, my son is the Wizard

My son left for college seven weeks ago. His transition and mine, although decidedly separate, occurred in tangent. Each were equally difficult both to live through and to witness. We were  uncomfortable and heroic but for entirely different reasons. In short, I have missed him incredibly. I believe he has missed me too.

His moving away is very much a double-edged sword. He needs to go to college. I understand that and so does he or at least he will one day. He needs to grow personally and socially. I know all this is right and true, but knowing has not made it any easier.
I miss him terribly and he misses having me around to lean on. I know that life for him is and will continue to be difficult without me in his circle all the time.
He is struggling. I know it. I can see it in his withdrawal. I can hear it in his lazy, disconnected tone. He is jumping through academic hoops and entirely miserable some nights. He says he feels 'lonely', 'lost' and 'out of control.' There are no words more difficult to hear as a parent.
The strange part is that he is doing well in school. Academically he is doing okay and even improving since the beginning of the year. He has found a job working for a person he respects. Personally and socially, he is floundering. From what I have seen, it is not for lack of trying. What I have seen of him as he tries with all his stamina and effort to 'fit in' .... is the my son has somehow turned into the bravest person I know.

Oddly enough, despite that he says he is lonely, no matter that he claims he has no friends. regardless that, to me, he appears to be miserable more often than not, he is flourishing in his own way. My son always has gone about tasks in his own way and by his own method. I should not really be surprised by this. But I am. I am surprised and thrilled that he has endeavored on a plan that I did not and could not conceive - yet it's perfect for him. I know that now. At first, I thought I needed to put one together for him - one that made sense to me. Finally and after many anxious nights and days, I gave up attempting to force him to engage on my terms. I had forgotten what I already knew and learned.

At this age, being on the edge of adulthood, my role in his life has transformed. I am no longer a director and or an enforcer. I am an influencer. What that means is that I no longer get to decide anything for him. I no longer get to declare directives. All I can do is voice my concerns, relay my experience(s) and hope, know and pray that he makes a good decision - whatever that ends up looking like.

On my last visit to campus he was up before I was, had made himself breakfast and set the dishes in the sink. After breakfast he seemed almost chatty. He told me about all the activities he had attended during the week and that he has been trying to get more exercise and eat more to keep his energy and strength up.

My son is taking control of his life. He is assuming responsibility for his life, his needs and his self.

I did not recognize the young man I visited. This man goes out - all the time - even when he doesn't know anyone - even when the function is in a big, loud place, or a complicated social environment. He attends basketball games!! Baseball games, movies, barbecues, student gatherings where ever and when ever. The young man I encountered has taken up exercise so that he can spend time in the gym  - "to be around people." He commits to two-hour bus rides to sporting events in neighboring towns just "to be around other people." He has joined clubs and sought out the campus bible study group. He spends hours at the library - all in an effort to simply increase the chances that he might meet some other students and form a friendship. To date, that hasn't happened and my heart breaks for him. He has tried and continues to try harder to make new friends than I ever would have.
He is so incredibly brave because he is starving for friendship.

Not surprisingly, he lives just short of defeat. I can see that he hurts deeply. I can stare at 'lonely' in his eyes. He is shy and feels alone. I know that if there were a tangible target even if it was one that was in no way responsible for this sad time, he would lash out and try to hurt it back.

I see my son every weekend. I need to see him to make sure he is okay and he needs to see me to be sure that I am still there, that I haven't forgotten about him or moved on to an alternate priority now that he does not occupy most of my time. What he doesn't know is that the simple fact that he is not physically near me does not mean that he I will no longer keep him as a priority needing tremendous amounts of support, love and care. His remoteness means that he is an even larger priority in my life than he was while we shared a home. I have learned to provide all the support that I possibly can in an entirely new way and through wholly different means. There is only so much I can do and a limit to what I can offer. I can do laundry, I can provide moral support. I can make sure he has food he likes and that there is enough there to eat for someone who really doesn't care if he eats or not because loneliness has buried his hunger. There has never been a more critical need for 'comfort food.'

Since he has moved away there are tasks and responsibilities that he must necessarily assume total accountability for. Eating enough and as often as he needed to was a huge challenge the first semester. Keeping track of his belongings has always been a challenge. Now that he is on his own there is nobody close to help him find his Student ID when it goes through the wash or his last five dollar bill abandoned in his sock drawer. People don't understand his habit of hiding things in close, closed places. Why would his car keys be stuffed down between the sofa cushions? I don't know, I simply know that they are and understand that my son likes the way this type of space feels; surrounded, a little tight, but warm and cozy. My son is beginning to understand his own habits.

I don't mean to make it appear that my son is a total bumbling misfit in his new environment. I truly believe that most people when placed in similar situations struggle with all sorts of issues. Some far heavier than those my son faces,
There are reasons I don't easily recognize my son as he once was. He has grown, He has matured. He is becoming the man I knew he would and I could not be more proud.

How exactly, I don't know. He is courageous, He is stronger than he believes. He is learning to be in control of more aspects of his life with every passing day despite that it is difficult and unpredictable. He is truly amazing to me. I watch and am continuously in awe of his perseverance, his unwillingness to quit, his determination to reinvent himself to capture more and more responsibility, his relentless pursuit of the friends that he wants and needs and his simultaneous patience with what is in store for him.

Even though he is in emotional pain and discomfort, I know that he must go through it and come out intact and on the other side to reap the benefits of this life lesson in ways that will require him to grow and mature into the remarkable person he will be.

Nobody else sneaks up on me repeatedly throughout the day to yell-whisper, "Boo!" in my ear from behind. How can you not miss someone who loves to play?!
Nobody else asks if there is anything I need them to do for me - even if it's ten o'clock in the evening.
Nobody else would rather be home with me, even if we are separately busy, than anywhere else.
Nobody else will join me in a room just to share my space with me and smirk at me as I notice his presence the way he does.

I have missed him so much. I have also worried about him handling such a huge change in his environment, fretted for him and his ability to find friends and connections and ached for him when he hasn't,

The first semester is over, He passed all his classes, got himself registered for the next set, ordered his books and began again. He kept his job and continues to try as hard as he can - at everything.

Some might say that he should be trying harder. I would ask them by whose measuring stick should anyone gauge their work if not their own?

I could not be more proud. He is a remarkable young man - capable of so much more than my measuring stick ever accounted for. I am so glad that he chose to throw mine away and use his own.

The Department of Public Safety

My son waited a while - much longer than his younger brother would have liked - to get his driver's license. He wasn't ready at 16 years old and I didn't push him. He had no intention of joining the chaos on the roads and I didn't really see why he should. The environment is nothing but dangerous. He recognized it at a time when I was already so desensitized that I forgot what it looked like.

In no uncertain terms my son explained that other driver's are erratic, do things without giving notice and generally do not follow the rules all of which makes them dangerous.He is SO right!Why would anyone throw themselves into the midst of that unless they absolutely must?

Well . . . because they must. Because they want money and because they need to join life. . . that's why.

It wasn't until his younger brother was old enough to attend Driver's Training with him that he even considered taking the classes. My son needed at least one familiar person there as a shield from the unknown. Cash was his motivation and family was his foundation.

I cannot tell you how many trips to the Department of Motor Vehicles we made. It seemed like each time we were there, some different bureaucratic barrier emerged that hadn't been announced the time before. He didn't meet the age requirement (by one day) despite that he was well over 16 years old. Or he didn't have a document (that wasn't listed in the requirements). Or the appointment had been cancelled without his consent because he didn't arrive and check in a full hour before his scheduled diving test. Somehow, each setback only increased his distrust of the Department as a whole. 

By the time he finally rescheduled his Road Test he didn't believe that some new and unknown condition would not emerge to get block his way to independence once again.

When we arrived at the Department of Motor Vehicles, I stood back and let my son handle his appointment. In fact, I insisted on it. He would have to handle tasks and procedures much worse than this in the future. I though it best if he began his now - when he really wanted something for his effort.

My son's appointment went well. He handled himself well, with confidence and purpose. He handled the officer who took his paperwork politely and with a barrage of questions she was not equipped to answer. He waited alone with the car virtually hours for his road test. Once gone, I prayed for safety and panicked when they returned in just over five minutes.

Walking through the front door of the driving center trying very hard to hold the pride in - he finally smiled. I knew he had done well and that this hurdle, this right of passage had been passed. 

At this point, my son is driving all the time. He enjoys it. He knows when he should and when he has reached his limit. Most important, he loves, soaks in and wallows in the independence and autonomy that being able to drive has brought.

Senior year . . . just like that

We survived Senior Year when we didn't believe we would! We survived because my son is tenacious. He simply does not give up.
So many people told me this day would never arrive. So many people explained the poor chances for success that my son could expect. Some even recommended an institution. Yes, that kind of place.

Never mind them.

Bus route worries; would it be the same? would the same driver be chauffeuring? would it be the exact same bus down to the number on the side? Schedule changes; what if I don't get the classes I need? who will help if I need to make changes? Are all the classrooms, bathrooms and cafeterias still in the same place after a summer of renovations? Would anyone remember him? Only everyone!! Does he have to try in classes that he cannot stand? Who in the heck thought that a class called Medical Terminology would be at all interesting to this child? In spite of all the uncertainties, unpleasant and uninteresting lessons, routines shifts and the like, my son has completed high school and done it well. Most important, he has finished on his own terms, in his way and according to his standards.

Since my son survived the first month of 12th grade, we all survived the same. Everyone did remember him. Everyone always has. I ran into his preschool teacher the other day at the market. She remembered him with great fondness and detail. Everyone remembers my son. I son't know what he was worried about, but I suppose worrying about that is a normal concern no matter who you are.

It has been another remarkable year for my son. He has grown into a truly amazing young man. He is consistently kind, conscientious and considerate. He is good. I just cannot say enough about him. I am so truly proud because he has worked so hard - in many ways harder than most - and he has succeeded. Nothing brings me more joy than to know without a doubt that all his hard work and my determination on his behalf has paid off. I know he is proud too because he tries so hard not to smile when someone tells him about his accomplishments. I cannot mention it. He doesn't like to be boasted upon.


There were times when I wondered if I have pushed him hard enough, expected enough of him, asked him to work hard enough. I still don't know because I don't know what is the right amount of effort for him. Thankfully, I believe he knows. I keep forgetting that what is correct for me is not also correct for him. Again, and thankfully, he reminds me in his way.

In so many ways my son is able to multi-task, combining activities that would make me feel incredibly frazzled and irritated would it were to last very long. Where I combine tasks, he cannot. Where he combines sensory input, I cannot. We run on completely different operating systems, it's true. Regardless of how he has completed this years long task, what matters is that he found his own way and finished on his terms. He did an outstanding job.

We made it through College applications, ACT and SAT exams, Prom, Homecoming, Senior pictures, and End of Course Exams. . . Through all of these, my son has taken on as much as he can and weeded out the parts that don't concern him. Again, they wouldn't be the choices that I would make, but they are not my choices. They are his, and he has made them well and according to his own wants and interest.
Graduation lies ahead; practice, ceremonies, uncomfortable regalia, crowds, photos, squealing parents, insolent yet equally proud and a little bit jealous brothers . . . there is so much ahead yet.

Plano East Senior High School Graduation

But just like that . . . Senior year has come to an end and life will begin again.

Bus

My son loves the bus. Any bus really, but the bus ride to school is (or was) almost his favorite part of the school day. Well, he likely enjoyed the bus ride home better - but you understand.
The bus ride served as the perfect transition mechanism between his home routine and any school expectations that would happen on any given day of the week.

Almost without fail, everyday - there were stories of the bus ride. The juvenile, entertaining and harmless antics of the bus driver who apparently truly enjoyed his morning and afternoon duties with the kids he had temporary custody of. And almost every day this summer - also without fail - come laments over the loss of the same bus driver and the comfortable, repetitive routine he represented.

My son misses riding the bus. His bus.
He has all the makes and models memorized and is always interested in what types of buses other school districts use and for what purpose. In fact, once we were while traveling he commented, "I could never go to school here, their buses are ugly." There was no mention of any other aspect of the school district, neighborhood or an interest in the curriculum. Those were not important.

There were two occasions last school year when I was required to pick up my son from school early for some minor doctor's visit - a check-up or a trip to the dentist maybe. On both occasions my son would practically beg me to return him to school (despite that classes would be over by the time we arrived back at school) so that he could ride the bus home. We would just make it - two minutes to spare. Riding the bus was his routine and he worked very hard to protect it and keep it intact within his day - despite whatever else might be going on or how it might inconvenience anyone else.
If my son was feeling poorly, he would go to school anyway  - so that he wouldn't miss the bus ride. Or, he might refuse to come home early if he wasn't feeling well always citing his need to ride the bus to and from school. Unfortunately the same rigid adherence to routine made it impossible for him to stay after school to attend tutoring sessions or really for any other after school activity. He missed a great deal because of that damn bus, but I am sure that what he gained by sticking to his routine was more than he missed. The problem is . . .  I don't understand it. He does.
Those measures are only easily understood from one perspective. His. I can see what he missed in his grades over a few semesters when tutoring would have helped; in his small social circle that after school clubs may have grown. It is much harder for me to measure the comfort level he gained or sustained by the stoic presence of that giant yellow bus, day in and day out. I can only guess at the anxiety level that might have ensued would the bus driver had quit half way through the year or the bus route changed or worst and almost unimaginable, if the bus hadn't come one day.
I don't know what might have happened. I don't even like to think about it.

All summer my son has wondered if the bus will be the same this year; the same route, the same driver, the same schedule.
All summer he has been waiting for that card in the mail. The one with the bus schedule; his bus stop location and time.

When is that card going to come?

His class schedule . . .  he is not so concerned with.