I saw a glimpse of it on Friday. The Kid is becoming a man.
We had an interview at a school he’d hoped to attend next year: an alternative high school designed for struggling teens who otherwise likely wouldn’t graduate. Wait, he had an interview. I didn’t have to come along, but one of the most important things a parent can do is be an advocate for one’s child, and considering all the battles I’ve had to fight with teachers and administrators since he stepped foot into kindergarten (and was promptly barred as he didn’t have the right paperwork onhand to prove he’d had his immunizations), I thought I’d better join him for the interview.
I needn’t have.
The alternative school is his idea. And sitting in the interview on Friday, you could tell that. He was attentive. He was talkative. He was engaged. He didn’t slouch in his chair or mumble. He made eye contact. He articulated why he should be there. The teacher apparently agreed and accepted him into the program on the spot.
I was so proud of him — quite honestly, the most proud I’ve ever been. I saw him seize hold of his life and take charge. It’s a big moment in anyone’s life, I’d contend, but even more so for my baby, who’s had a life swirling out of control — with such devastation — for so long.
