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Report card. Not good. And a secretive element involved, deciding not to tell Dad until the very last moment before teacher/parent/student interviews.
This despite assurances, when he was with me (mom and dad are split) that all was well, he was making school first priority, girlfriend, singing in band and other things second.
Anger. Frustration. Reaming out. Disappointment. Mucho sadness. His pledge to do better beyond words, but to be shown in actions and results. And, finally, acceptance.
And, the day after, acceptance by me...that I was a teenaged doofus too. And that I have to now make sure he knows...
--that I skipped class in kindergarten to go tree-climbing.
--that I was the class clown in Grade 7, suspended for pulling teacher's dress down
--that I failed Grade 10 French and had to go to summer school
--that I almost failed typing because I didn't do one assignment until the last week of the school year, when my mom forced me to do it
--that I was a 50s and 60s (marks) kinda guy until Grade 11
And he needs to know that, given my own experience as a professional world-class teenaged doofus, things can be turned around if there's the intention and try to do that.
And that in the end, A's or F's won't change the beautiful person he is.
