On Becoming a Tick Mark, and Other Tales

My son sent me an e-mail.

For someone who once claimed e-mail was dead, for a kid who grew up on MySpace and Instant Messaging, this is huge. HUGE.

It gets better.

Attached to the e-mail were two Excel spreadsheets. The first details his monthly expenditures once he starts college, starting with that enormous bill called tuition right down to details like Saturday night dates.

He plans on sending us monthly reports.

I suspect certain details will go unspoken.

The second illustrates his financial plan for funding all four years of his college education. He detailed his scholarship, federal grant, student loan and committed income from Dad-Who-Would-Be-Outlaw, his adoring grandparents, and, of course, moi. Detailed right down to anticipated dates of receipt.

We all now know exactly where we stand. We are no longer his loving relations. We’re tick marks in The-Man-Named-Bill's financial plan.

My financial plan when I started college? Grants, student loans and cocktail waitressing (Great tips. Cheap drinks).

Ya gotta admire Bill’s persistence.

He didn’t get into the film program at his first choice college. But he got a scholarship. So he’s going anyway. Plans on relying on chutzpah to eventually get into the film school.

And his job at the theatre production company became impractical when they decided to move their operation to San Diego.

Does he sweat a drop? Nope.

Calls the Dean of the Film School, actually gets the man on the phone (which is apparently a rare feat), and procures a list of recommended work-study programs that will better position his application for film school next spring.

Sounds a whole lot more strategic than wearing short skirts and peddling cocktails to businessmen.

I suppose I ought to start writing about something other than my son. I really thought my life would turn once he graduated from high school and went to college. That I’d find all kinds of other interesting things to write about like…well, like writing.

I know people think I’m proud of him. Which I am. But this is something more.

Bill fascinates me. Utterly fascinates me.

He fascinates me the way most of us find certain movie characters fascinating. Or certain film stars. Like Humphrey Bogart. Or interesting people we meet when we’re traveling.

I feel like I'm in the middle of a great of novel with a fascinating lead character. The kind of book that gets me so wrapped up that I can't put it down. Up till 4 in the morning reading. Poring over every word to make sure I don't miss a subtle plot turn or a single nuance of character development. Can't wait to find out what happens in the end, but more importantly, can't wait to find out what happens next.

August 21.

Bill starts college and the next chapter begins.


parenting teenagers daily life humor writing diary

Paintjam Dan Dunn

This is just so cool...

A Man Named Bill

The other day a bearded deep-voiced man—who evidently lives in my house—told me that he was leaving for California on July 13. He starts his new job at a theatre production company on July 15. He wants to sleep on a friend’s couch, get settled into a work routine and sign up for classes well before he starts college in late August.

I turned around to look this voice in the eye, and saw someone I'd never seen before.

A man.

Not a "Young Man."

A man.

Hmmm. What should I call this man?

The Man?

Boring.

The-Man-Formerly-Known-As-The-Teenager?

Doesn’t exactly have a ring to it.

Technically, at 18 years of age, my son is still a "teenager." But he can no longer be "The-Teenager-Formerly-Known-as-Pumpkin." I can't even bring myself to call him "The Teenager."

He's too…too…big.

In size, yes. But big in personality, too. Huge, in fact.

Maybe it's the chiseled cheekbones and the creases when he smiles, the ones that replaced the baby-face cheeks of his teenage years.

When did that happen?

Maybe it's the confident swagger. The one that appeared after he was technical director for A Little Shop of Horrors. With this production, he accomplished a goal he set when he was just 14—to bring community theatre quality to his high school stage. A goal he turned right around and topped with his second play of the year, Curious Savages.

Or could it be the worldly snicker? That all-knowing "hmph" he makes whenever a politician he doesn't like (which is most of them) speaks on the evening news? When on earth did that happen? Maybe it was always there, and I just woke up and noticed.

But here's the truly telling part: He's not funny anymore.

He's Focused. Thoughtful. Stalwart. Earnest.

Oh sure, he's funny at times—like a comedian is funny. But he used to be funny all the time. Funny just because he woke up every morning wearing this awkward teenage skin. Now he's only funny when he cracks clever jokes about adult matters, like dating and presidential elections.

I spent no small part of this past year worrying about how it would feel when my son—this happy-go-lucky little guy who made me laugh through thick and thin for 18 straight years—left home for college in California.

But he’s already gone. And someone new has taken his place.

A man.

A man who grew up with a nickname for every stage of his life. First, "Godzilla." Then, “Pumpkin.” Then, “Little Guy" and then “Short Stuff.” Finally, “The Teenager.”

So…now what?

Maybe “Bill.” After all, his stage name is Bill.

When I tell theater people that, they grimace and say “Huh?”

Long story. The important thing is that everyone—everyone that is except for me, his dad and his dentist—calls him “Bill.”

When I visit his theater productions, people ask me whose mom I am. When I say "Justin," they look puzzled, not knowing who on earth I could be talking about. Then I say, “Bill,” and they grin wide and say things like, “Oh Bill!!! Bill’s great! We LOVE Bill!”

Even the announcer at his high school graduation presented him to the world as Justin “Bill” Snyder.

The cutsey nicknames just don’t work anymore. Not for this bearded deep-voiced man with the huge personality.

So, allow me to introduce to you a man. An awesome young man named Justin Keith Patrick Krecker Snyder.

Or, simply “Bill.”


parenting teenagers daily life humor writing diary