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

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

The Teenager Graduates from High School

That handsome gent on the far right is my dad. Hmmm....wonder wehre the Teenager got his nose?

And the handsome gent on the left is, who else, Dad-Who-Would-Be-Outlaw. Hmm…wonder where the Teenager got his personality?

~~~~~~~~~~

My friends knew that, as a single mom of an only son, the Teenager's graduation ceremony would be an emotional experience. The next day, they all asked me questions like, "Are you ok?" and, "Did your mascara hold up?"

In truth, although I cried plenty, I didn't shed a single tear over my son. Nor will I.

Two weeks before the 2007 graduating class of Chaparral High School walked down the aisle to accept their diplomas, one of their classmates, Phillip Vogel died. A popular kid, Phillip went to our church, played hockey, enjoyed rock climbing, and hung out with the same group of kids as my son.

The teenager and I talked about Phillip's death--particularly in light of its cause, street racing. Our pastor discussed the community's loss and the family's sadness at our Sunday evening teen Mass. There was a memorial service. We contributed to an account set up for charitable donations.

We thought we had moved on.

Then came the graduation ceremony.

It began with a eulogy for Phillip. One of Phillip's teachers gave a heart-wrenching speech about living for the moment because we really never know what will happen next. One of his hockey club teammates spoke about how Phillip said he wouldn't change a single thing about his life. It was the longest speech of the night in a stadium filled with 3,000 people, and yet you could have heard a pin drop.

Then, Phillip's parents calmly walked up to the stage and accepted his diploma posthumously.

After that, all any of us could do was honor Phillip's memory and his parent's grace by feeling nothing but happiness and gratitude for all the graduates of Chaparral High.

If Phillip's objective in life was to remind as many people as possible to fully embrace each and every moment, he most certainly achieved it. And I can't help but think that Phillip was looking down and smiling his great big toothy grin someplace in the sky above us. So, for Phillip: Congratulations to the Class of 2007!!


parenting teenagers daily life humor writing diary

Teenager Steamrolls Entertainment Industry

A month ago, the Teenager mentioned that he wanted to hold a fundraiser for his high school’s theatre department. “A rock concert,” he said. “With a name band and a big sponsor, like maybe Coca-Cola!”

Precious, I thought.

I might have worried when he told me he was invited to a meeting with the school district’s attorney, the superintendent of schools and his high school principal. But I thought the whole concept would blow over right then and there.

Who knew a 17-year-old could navigate the muddied waters of politics and regulations at a large public school district?

The concert is happening, and the Teenager's desk has turned into a flurry of e-mails and paperwork. There are budgets and contracts, and there are security guards to hire and sound systems to arrange. In between sponsorship negotiations with, yes, Coca-Cola, and a host of local businesses, radio stations and guitar shops, the Teenager debates whether to fly a name alternative rock band in from New Jersey, or hire an up-and-coming Phoenix band with a huge local following.

A momentary roadblock arose. Construction on the school’s auditorium was scheduled for completion after the concert date, which meant the lobby would be boarded up. How gauche. And where would the Teenager locate the sponsor’s booths?

The Teenager suggested to his school’s principal that the school’s construction schedule be rearranged to complete the auditorium lobby in time for the fundraiser. The principal agreed wholeheartedly. At a private tour yesterday of the half-completed lobby, the construction director explained to the Teenager how he had moved an entire crew off of the gymnasium construction onto the auditorium project so that the lobby could be completed a month ahead of schedule, just in time for the concert.

My mother holds a special place in her heart for the Teenager. For his fifth birthday (he was still called Pumpkin back then), she gave him cash and noted, "Pumpkin thinks a lot about money, and I think that's a fine thing."

I knew Mom would be pleased by Pumpkin's fundraising plans, so I called to tell her all about it. "Well, I think that's just wonderful," she said. "You know Alice Cooper has been very involved with the local schools here in the past. The Teenager should call him!"

"Omigosh, what a grand idea," I said. "And I might even be able to track down people who know his people!" Thrilled that I could make an adult contribution to the Teenager’s dreams, I called the young man right away. His reply?

“Oh, yeah, we already talked to him.”

“You…t-t-t-talked...to Alice Cooper?”

“Yeah. He’s got a charity for teenagers and he’s not going to play at the concert, but he's agreed to make an appearance.”

“Did you just say Alice Cooper agreed to make an appearance at your concert?”

“Oh, yeah. He’s pretty cool ya know.”

Yeah, kid. I know.


parenting teenagers daily life humor writing diary

Just One More Week

The first batch of The Teenager's college applications are due Nov. 30. Then there's the ACT tests on Dec. 2, and the next batch of applications due on Dec. 4. The last batch in February 2007. (Can you believe we're talking about 2007 already?)

Bear with me gang, we're heading down the home stretch!


parenting teenagers daily life humor writing diary

Hubbub on Teenager Hill

Life has been pretty lively over here on Teenager Hill – hence my hiatus from blogging. With many apologies to all of my dear friends who have so kindly worried about me, here is the rundown on recent events:

First, the Teenager was in a car accident (no one was hurt) which involved something to do with donuts in a parking lot on a rainy day, a telephone pole and a police officer which resulted in a reckless driving ticket that we're trying to get reduced which involved begging everyone we know to write letters to the City of Scottsdale about what a fabulous kid the Teenager is which resulted in lots of tears from Queen Mom when she read all of the letters and realized just HOW fabulous everyone thinks her Teenager really is and all of this happening at the same time as Dad-Who-Would-Be-Outlaw's job along with car insurance for the Teenager, not to mention the Teenager's future college career, dangled in the balance of Intel's current restructuring plan which resulted in Dad-Who-Would-Be-Outlaw flying all over the country in his effort to rescue his job (which he did) and all of this happening at the same time as the Teenager's college applications are due (Nov. 30) which involves a complicated process because in order to get into film school (the Teenager's life ambition) the Teenager has to fill out not one, but two complete applications for each college which involves essays and teacher recommendations for each of these two applications multiplied by five colleges thus quintupling not only the Teenager's workload, but that of all the lovely people who just put their hearts and souls into letters to help the Teenager stay out of jail and are now being asked to write college recommendations and, oh by the way, all of this happening at the same time as Queen Mom's job exploded which involved adding a huge new responsibility (our company's entire web development plan) and moving her office to a different campus and all of this happening at the same time as the Teenager was producing "A Midsummer Night's Dream" AND studying for the SAT and ACT tests and, because he was spending his afternoons and evenings producing the play, the Teenager could not attend the SAT and ACT study classes so Queen Mom has been tutoring the Teenager and if you'll recall how much…mm…fun it was when your parents tried to teach you how to drive you might have some sense of just how much…mm…fun Queen Mom and the Teenager are having adjusting to their new relationship as Tutor and Tutoree and all of this happening at the same time as Queen Mom's dear friend and attorney came down with a serious illness which resulted in a continuance of the court case for reckless driving against the Teenager and, let's not forget, throughout all of these events the Teenager's truck was wrecked and spent two months in the body shop which means that, since Dad-Who-Would-Be-Outlaw has been flying all over the country, Queen Mom has been chauffeuring the Teenager to school, to rehearsals, to various and sundry film production projects, to Homecoming, to football games and to church which brings us back to the donuts, the telephone pole, the police officer, the car accident and the rainy day which started the whole affair.

[deep breath]

Surely there's a moral here.

parenting teenagers daily life humor writing diary