Dad, Son, and His First Day of High School

Yesterday, my son went to high school.  While not racked with emotion, the thought train in my head barreled down the tracks all day.  I was at once proud and apprehensive for many things that could themselves be fodder for this space.

The beaming smile, crisp white shirt, and simple dark tie portray his happy pride and robust enthusiasm at the embarking moment.  But I couldn't help worry.  And as mentioned before on this blog, I am home to worry.

But I did not worry about context.  The school may be in downtown Seattle, but I have always wanted my son to believe he's an urban kid.  He's cool with that.  Nor do I worry about the environment.  This school teaches a crisp and coherent code of ethics embraced by every boy who attends.  The students refer to elements of that code as supporting a "brotherhood" amongst the boys there.

That brotherhood is what leads the majority of new students there, athlete or not, to turn out for the football team.  Playing Frosh football gives the boys an opportunity to bond as a class before the school year even begins.  For that matter, between football practices and band practices held the two weeks before school started, this first day almost seemed a mere formality!

No, my apprehension is more basic than that.  This boy has great aspirations for academics and athletics and he's taking quite a load.  He has three honors classes (language arts, algebra 2, and world history).  He opted for Japanese, the most difficult of the foreign language courses offered (IMHO). He's drumming in the band which meets during the dreaded "Zero" Period, an hour before school starts.  He turned out for football and somehow, he's apparently good at it.  And his travel baseball commitments ramp up the weekend after Labor Day.  It's a schedule that would break down even an apex, alpha personality.  Perhaps it's fortunate that this kid's just a happy-go-lucky little pinball, capable of going with the flow, absorbing the blows, and still winning on the judges cards.

Despite the worry, I believe that although this school is known for its competitive sports programs (and thus competitive student body), it's also known for the support shown these boys once admitted.  The few teachers we met so far are well-aware that these kids put themselves to huge demands through their team, music, and other commitments.  And the teachers are reticent to leave anyone behind (apologies for the errant educational reference).

So although I spent every minute yesterday thinking about my boy, tracking his schedule as I traversed mine, I was also very excited for him and only hope that if he needs my help for anything, he will ask. That could be he subject of another column itself since despite my competencies, I have not yet proven to be a patient mentor to him.  But I am so happy to keep trying.  Go Irish!