Yesterday, I tried to summarize a few observations following my son's first month of high school. That he chose to apply to an all-boys high school in downtown Seattle certainly added a major wrinkle to this step in his education. I think had he simply ascended to the public school serving our neighborhood, as did his friends from middle school, we might be seeing fewer of the sorts of challenges he grapples with now at his new school.
I already mentioned a few of the structural challenges presented by attending his school; commuting, lack of familiarity of place, and a general lack of familiarity with the student body. He is also challenged in class, mostly by his need for better time management, and from a general lack of familiarity with the stylistic demands of writing real papers and handing-in clean homework. Notice that I do not believe he has much actual difficulty with the subject matter. Nevertheless, his present challenges and his behavioral responses to them give him enough with which to contend.
But what of my role in the lows of having a freshman boy? My main weakness as a dad resides in modelling poor responses to tough moments he experiences. So when he reacts to unfamiliar demands in school work, he tends to hide his weakness either by seeking out mom, or by blustering his way through work with poor effort just to "get it done." I am certain he wants to avoid generating my usual, overtly dismissive response to any display of inadequacy on his part.
He knows I can't stand even casual statements like, "this doesn't make sense." Because of course it makes sense so what's the problem? My responses are strong and quick and no doubt affect my son like so many bites from a snake. These reactions reflect my most contemptuous personality trait. Although I care not to psychoanalyze myself in these musings, I'm sure I could use some counseling and personality work. More on that some other time perhaps.
As you might imagine, under the load of several honors classes, a really foreign language, playing in the school band and drumline, a new sport (to go with the old one), new classmates, and a commute, the kid has a lot to manage. He doesn't need my crap. And although I can help on any of his school subjects (including Japanese), he needs more than my help. He needs me to respond in an appropriately fatherly way, with abundant patience, and toughness in reserve. When he gets stupid while working with us on an assignment, I need to offer him pathways through problems rather than remonstrating in response. "But this is so easy!" I'll whine. Maybe for him it's not.
This is one of the primary roles of a boy's parents according to therapist and gender-learning expert, Michael Gurian. Gurian is the author of several fine books on boy-learning including the influential volume, The Wonder of Boys which I bought when Jacob was only a year or two. I never finished the book until the end of last year, having learned during our due diligence that Jacob's high school is a Gurian Model school integrating an intentional (rather than default) boy-centered curriculum and classroom. In fact, our learning about Gurian and his theories on boy-learning was a central motivator for allowing Jacob to apply there.
One of the central tenets in The Wonder of Boys is that boys are better taught (and thus raised) as members of overlapping, sequentially larger communities starting with the nuclear family, but surrounded by larger elements including classrooms, sports teams, and eventually the community in which the family resides. By extension, modelling poor behavior at the most familiar level, can undermine the overall structure on which the boy should otherwise rely. Think, "if my dad's a dick, why should I listen to my coach/teacher/spiritual leader?" Or for that matter, other authoritative figures including community leaders and police.
So last night, while expressing displeasure at the hasty and lackadaisical attention my bright boy gave what should have been a quick but thoughtful essay, I acted up only to reinforce poor response to a moment of difficulty. I've done this before and hate myself for it. I ruined a teachable moment overcome and angered unecessarily by what appeared to me to be his indifference to the assignment. Not only did he not learn, but he did not reengage, and the rest of his workload was hindered.
It's almost funny, in re-reading my thoughts here now, that the problems I focus on are mine and not his. Fortunately, my (far-more-well-grounded-than-I) wife knew enough to say that this was just a weak moment for each of us. There will be such moments. There will also be great ones. Which I hope to write about next.
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