The nuclear family goes skiing

Act I

Scene One: Teenager tells Queen Mom that he is going skiing with Teenager Buddy.

Queen Mom replies, “FOUR HOUR DRIVE? IN THE SNOW? BY YOURSELVES? NO WAY!!”

“We’re going with an 18-year-old Mom!”

“You’re going with an 18-year-old? EVEN MORESO...NOOOO WAAAYYYY!!”

“But…but…but….”

“NOT A CHANCE!”

“Will you take us?”

“ARE YOU KIDDING? DO YOU KNOW HOW BUSY WE ARE? NOOOO WAAAYYYY!”

Scene Two: Queen Mom and Dad-Who-Would-Be-Outlaw wake up at 3:30 a.m. to make four-hour drive to escort Teenager and Teenager Buddy to ski resort. Mythical 18-year-old nowhere in sight.

Scene Three: Nuclear family arrives at resort. Snowboards resting on shoulders, Teenager and Teenager Buddy march into falling snow like toy soldiers.

Scene Four: Teenager Buddy executes fabulous trick and soars back from far reaches of sky to stick landing. Snowboard catches in wet snow. Teenager Buddy careens face-first into snowdrift as snowboard snaps in half.

Act II

Scene One: Undaunted by tragedy, Teenager and Teenager Buddy share remaining half of snowboard for sledding antics (see photos above).

parenting teenagers daily life humor

Whose name is it anyway?

Justin doesn’t like his name anymore. With its hyphens and hard Germanic sounds, he says it’s just too complicated for a filmmaker. He wants to be known only as “Bill.” No middle name. No last name. Just “Bill.”

“’Bill’? Why ‘Bill’? If you want an arty name, why not call yourself ‘B’? Or ‘J-man’? Or anything but ‘Bill’!”

“I just want a simple name. Bill.”

It started when he joined his high school theater program as a member of the props crew. At 14, he was the youngest kid in the show. No one knew his name. And he was determined to prove himself. Whenever anyone had a task they didn't want to do, they'd say, "Just have Props Kid Bill do it."

And he did.

He moved up on the crew, but by then everyone knew him as "Bill." His reputation grew and his new name spread throughout the high school.

When I was pregnant, his working name was ‘Godzilla.’ As my due date came closer, our friends and families convinced us of a more socially acceptable name. So we picked ‘Justin.’ We thought it was an unusual name, smart, different, creative. Little did we know that ‘Justin’ would turn out to be the ‘John’ of the '90s.

But ‘Bill’?

We refuse. We picked ‘Justin’ for a reason. It’s not his name. It’s ours. If we wanted a kid with the same name as an accounting practice you want to avoid, we would have named him Bill in the first place.

Bill. Not a chance.

For a few weeks after his announcement, we called him the artist formerly known as ‘Justin,’ or AFKAJ for short. But that was hard to explain to Mom and Dad, never mind his dentist.

So, now, we just call him “The Teenager.” Oddly, whenever I tell this story, people nod knowingly. And everyone, even the dentist, gets it.

parenting teenagers daily life humor

Friday: A new meaning to the word "experimental"

Like Art Center, the modernist, rectangular structure that houses CalArts is perched on the side of a hill surrounded by tall trees and lush grass lawns. CalArts has an added advantage: it is one of only three art schools in the country that hosts both performing arts and visual arts programs in one place.

After the admissions counselors’ presentation and tour, I was sold. What a school! Musicians, character animators, dancers, actors, opera singers, painters, set designers and filmmakers all in one place! Famous teachers! A veritable smorgasbord of talent for a budding filmmaker! And they even have student housing!

Justin remained unconvinced. I encouraged him to be more open-minded, to think more broadly about his work. He dug in his heels.

I thought that my opportunity to change his mind lied within the experimental nature of film students’ work at CalArts, and so I talked Justin and his dad into accompanying me to the Film Services Library to view a compilation of recent student films.

The first film was a play on still photography as film. Clever, but dull. The second a rather odd story about a young girl who kills her abusive father. Not so clever and duller.

Dad fell asleep.

The next was a lot of artistic motion, cherry blossoms and distorted film. Duller still.

Dad began snoring. It wasn’t going well.

Finally, we reached a film with promise. It started out with a voiceover of a young couple talking about love as a cemetery scene rolled by on the screen. (Yeah, I thought...some meaning, some drama!) The movie proceeded slowly, the young girl taking a shower, a rambling voiceover soliloquy. Then we cut to a scene of the young girl naked, apparently in bed with a young man, presumably the filmmaker. The scene progresses…well, I’ll let you guess the rest.

My son quickly switches off the DVD, lifts an eyebrow in disdain and growls, “Do you still want me to go to CalArts?”

We no longer discuss “experimental” art.

parenting teenagers daily life

Thursday: The hallowed halls of Art Center

The black Bauhaus-style main building of Art Center College of Design spans windy Lida Road and a lush green deer gully, and is nestled within a park-like forest halfway up the side of a small mountain in Pasadena, CA. Surely, the 270 degree view of the Los Angeles metropolis influences the heady ideas of Art Center’s students, many of whom develop the world’s next great automobiles, products and design trends while still attending classes in these stark white halls.

We met Justin's dad at the airport so that he, too, could enjoy this seminal trip. Was it his dad's influence, or was it his mood? Yesterday, Justin tried as hard as possible to be cool, wearing his sunglasses, distancing himself from me on the tours, growling at me whenever I asked questions. Today, he said far less, but stopped occassionally and leaned gently against me, like my golden retriever used to when she wanted me to know she was by my side.

I’d heard that Art Center was the West Coast version of Pratt Institute, the art school I attended decades ago. In some ways, yes – both schools’ students are bright, incredibly talented and driven beyond measure – but in many ways, no.

Pratt’s 120-year-old ivy-covered brownstone halls, wrought iron stairwells and leaky pipes could not be more different from Art Center’s rectangular, all black and white, modernist structure, dappled late afternoon sunlight streaming through black floor-to-ceiling mini-blinds.

Pratt uses a classical art school curriculum with an emphasis on foundational art courses such as drawing in the first semesters (even the architecture majors are required to take figure drawing), while Art Center students jump right into their major design courses after a few basic classes in studio design. Depending on the major, a student could easily go through Art Center without ever taking a single drawing class.

Because of this emphasis on fine art, the work of Pratt’s students reflects a broader range of influences. While this might give Pratt’s students a more personally fulfilling artistic life, it doesn’t necessarily give them a marketplace advantage. The gallery show and student work we saw at Art Center portrayed a remarkable professionalism and maturity, likely a product of the sharp focus of the school’s curriculum and the driven nature of its students. Better, the work was breathtaking.

But is this the place for Justin? I thought my son, who once debated between being an automotive designer and a filmmaker, would have found in Art Center his joie de vivre. Instead, he found the school too focused on design for his taste, and the opportunity for collaboration with music, drama and writing students on his film projects too limiting.

And so, we take a last lingering look at the panaromic view from Art Center's tremendous windows, breathe in the cool, clear air of Pasadena's hillside breezes, then head down to I-10 and another afternoon battle with L.A. traffic.

Friday: Disney's CalARTS

parenting teenagers daily life

Wednesday: Seeing is believing

Today was a big day for both of us. We visited Chapman University, and my son exhibited a maturity beyond his years as we interviewed with admissions, met students and toured the campus. Me? I held back tears for the first of likely many times over the fact that my son is grown up. Not growing up anymore, but grown up.

Ok, so he’s only 16. But the choice of a college is entirely his – as it should be. He’s the one who has to choose, attend and pass his classes. He’s the one who has to get along with his college roommates, or not. He’s the one who has to graduate. He’s the one who has to find a job when he’s done. He’s the one who has to pay back his student loans.

He’s the one who gets to decide – and most likely he’ll make a far different decision than the one I would have made.

My heart burst today when I watched him ask thoughtful, intelligent questions of the admissions counselor and tour guides, when I saw how easily he fit into the college environment, how excited he was when he saw the TV studios.

At the same time I felt sad; I’m not sure what role I play in his life now, if any. When he was small I could anticipate his every need. But now, I’m not always even sure I know him.

I do know it is very important for me to take this trip with him. Perhaps, so I can see his maturity, perhaps to help him navigate Los Angeles, or perhaps he’s actually listening to me even though he pretends not to.

Chapman is beautiful, set amid Old Town Orange with its charming antique stores, Victorian houses and quiet streets – a small town college in the heart of one of the largest metropolises in the world.

After our campus tour and admissions information session, we walked with some other parents and prospective students to the film school. A young man with purple hair chatted with another student dressed entirely in black at the entrance. One of the girls in our group giggled and said, “You can tell we’re in the right place!”

The enthusiastic, down-to-earth students shared a warm collegiality as they bustled about in the cramped film school (a new 18,000 sq. ft. building opens next year), shouting notes about collaborative projects to each other, rushing through narrow hallways. The very air held the crispness of a place where people are getting great things done.

And maybe seeing this is why I’m here.


parenting teenagers daily life

He thinks I'm a geek.

You guessed it. I'm talking about my teenager.

Tall, smart, accomplished. Shaggy hair and smelly socks. Bright. Lazy. Hardworking. Irresponsible. Responsible. All at once.

Teenagers are a walking stew of opposites.

He loves me. He thinks I'm a geek. And, in his universe, I am. Doesn't he realize I was cool once? Some people actually think I still am.

Poor kid. A "cool" mom. How embarrassing.

parenting teenagers daily life humor