Settling in to school routine

Musical Alters in Tomball

I am amused, bemused, whatever as my grandkids settle in to school for the year. The Tomball kids are both playing marching band instruments—I can only imagine what their household sounds like, but I may take earplugs next time I visit.

Sawyer with his broken elbow and wrist is keeping up in school by dictation—it’s his right hand, and he’s right-handed. His big recital is this weekend and of course he can’t play guitar—he’s reduced to singing back-up for four pieces.

But it’s the boys’ athletic record that intrigues me. Of four grandsons, I have two who are so far unscathed by athletic injuries; one who suffered a broken arm last year or the year before on the soccer field, and of course Sawyer with his shattered elbow due to a biking accident.

Of the two unscathed, Ford is playing basketball this season, which I consider relatively safe. But Jacob—oh, Jacob. Over my loud and frequent protests, his parents gave permission for him to go out for football. He’s in seventh grade, and that’s the first year they play tackle.

The two unscathed--can you see mischief in those faces?

My hip surgeon said to me in all seriousness, “Whatever you do keep him off the football field.” In the next breath, he added that soccer is almost as bad if a kid heads the ball—and Kegan does. So two to worry and wring my hands about.

So far, Jacob’s football involvement has been interesting. He has to be at practice at—heaven help us—6:20 in the morning, and he doesn’t get home until 4:30. The most conversation I usually get out of him is, “I’m sooo tired.” But it’s had an interesting effect on the family: Christian now goes to the gym most mornings—he hadn’t been fitting the gym into his schedule as much before. And Jordan reports that after she takes Jacob to school, she gets an enormous amount of deskwork done by nine a.m. All to the good.

My daughter has not only joined the booster club, but she has volunteered to be the mom who feeds the boys before games. She assures me it means arranging to have the food there, not personally fixing it, hauling it, etc. If anybody is organized and fit for such a job, it’s Jordan. But still, it’s a hassle, and I asked her one day why she took it on when she had so much else on her plate. Her answer floored me.

She looked me straight in the eye and said, “Seventh grade was the worst year of my life. I want to be involved so that doesn’t happen to Jacob.”

Can you see the wave of guilt washing over me? I remember she had academic trouble—we had just transferred her to public from parochial school, the latter being a nightmare—and she was jumped by a bunch of girls in the john one day. But beyond that, the traumas of her year are lost to me, and I am now feeling like an inadequate mother.

No excuses, but at the time I was the single parent of four teenagers (she’s the youngest), and I had a full-time job plus a writing career I was trying to nourish. And I had a bit of a social life—not much, mind you, because that was an arena where my kids really did come first. But school? I didn’t like or have time for PTO or PTA or whatever they call it, and I think I pretty much sent my kids off in the morning, with as nourishing a breakfast as I could manage, and welcomed them home at night. They all worked after the age of fifteen, so we went a lot of separate ways. But in some dark corner of my mind I figured they were the school’s responsibility from nine to three or four or whatever.

I cannot tell you how proud I am of Jordan. She’s got the coach on speed dial, she can go anywhere in that school with her booster badge, people know her—and they know who her kid is, even other kids. It’s a great thing she’s doing for Jacob. Too late for a do-over for me, but all four turned out all right, and I can applaud and support them. Will you join me in clapping?