From Boychick to Man

"In a place where there are no menschen,

you be a mensch."

--Hillel

In the past several years, the boy I called Boychick here on my blog has been busy growing up.

After acquiescing to his request to go to high school, I have not featured him here very much, preferring to give him his privacy as he went about this business of learning to be a man. In the process, he went from being my Boychick--my favored (and only) boy-child, to being the Rasta Jew--who was quite enamored with Reggae music and then with trucks and the Dukes of Hazzard.

From the beginning, high school has been a challenge to my young man, who has found great difficulty with academics, and who's talent lies in hands-on subjects such as music, art and sports. And yet he has perservered, and despite finally receiving a formal educational diagnosis of Autism and Specific Learning Disability, he has also made numerous friends who accept his ways as a given. Kids these days do seem to be much more accepting of differences among themselves, even as they navigate a world that seems less and less accepting of them.

From last March until now, as the Engineering Geek and I have been putting into place our plans for Going Galt, the Rasta Jew has been considering his own future as well. It took a good deal of courage to tell me, his scholarly mother, that university studies were not part of his plans.

And it has taken some work on my part to let loose the apron strings and let him dream his dreams. And yet, at the same time, it is immensely satisfying for me to see the changes that his choices has wrought within him. On his IEP in the spring of his freshman year, he said that he wanted to be a Rock Star when he grew up. This seemed like the same kind of starry eyed ambition as the first grader who wanted to be an astronaut or a fireman. But in the past six months, the obsession with trucks has become an obessession with engines and now they work--an obsession that includes a great deal of work and study to understand them in great detail.

When we closed on the ranch in Catron County in August, we began to plan in earnest for the EG's retirement, and for the move. At that time, I gave the Rasta Jew a choice. He could either stay at East Mountain High School and we would make arrangements for him to stay with his sister or friends, or he could move down with us to the ranch. At the time this choice was presented, our young man had seen the ranch just once, and although he loved it, the whole project was not real to him and he seemed inclined to stay at East Mountain. But starting Labor Day weekend, we began spending two or three weekends a month at the ranch, and he began spending time with a genuine Cowboy, Mr. H., and learning some of the skills we all needed to know. He repaired fencing, put in line, chopped wood, built fires, and learned to rope. And his plans began to change.

At the same time, the Junior level curriculum at his college prep high school was becoming quite a challenge. A month in to school, it was recommended that he drop German Language and add a Structured Study Hall in order to focus on two academic courses, as well as his beloved music class, World Rhythm. He still struggled both with the kind of writing that was being demanded in his humanities, as well as with the pace of the work, as well as in math. He began to realize that his talents and the skills he was developing did not lie with academic work in the classroom, but with his ability to take things apart and put them back together in order to get them working--whether it was an electric guitar or a drive-shaft that fell out of his truck.

So in October, when we visited Quemado High School in Catron County, he was far less interested in the Calculus class being taught to students in classrooms in three different schools across 100 miles through the magic of technology, than he was in the fact that the school has an excellent wood shop, metal shop and welding program. Such opportunities are now almost non-existent in the urban schools as kids are pushed toward college whether they have the talent and the inclination for it or not. A discussion of the FFA program and 4-H, both of which take place during the school day, got the wheels turning in his head, and a few weeks later, with the help of his very special Special Education coordinator at East Mountain, he announced that he was going to move with us to the ranch.

Since then, we have seen remarkable peace and purpose descend upon him; he has a vision for his future, and it is very specific. He wants to learn welding and auto-mechanics, and plans to attend a trade school for those skills, and then he wants to open his own business in Catron County, and live at the ranch. A rancher needs to be a master of many of the trade skills, plus animal skills, and the Rasta Jew's ambition is to take over the ranch from us one day. He loves working the cattle, and gets up without complaint of a snowy morning to bring them feed and get wood ready for the fire.

He has begun to study the things he will be learning to fulfill his plans. He has been reading up on horses, to better care for his horse, and he spends as much time working his saddle as he does playing his guitar. He keeps Faye E. Ward's The Cowboy at Work by his bed, as well as the Horseman's Almanac. And he pores over the technical manuals for his Jeep, and has developed innovative ways to replace parts that can no longer be found. Thus has the Boychick cum Rasta Jew become the Cowboy in Training (CIT).

It has been a wonderful transformation to watch, as his purpose unfolds bringing with it a new maturity and sense of responsiblity.

No longer a Boychick, he is becoming a man, and is beginning to show the purpose and the promise that comes when a boy puts away childish things, in order to create a life that satisfies his own desires and understandings. For to be a mensch--a real man, a real human being--is to become a person who does not do what is expected, but what is right. And he chooses his own path, putting away the childish desire to do what he thinks his parents want, or to be like others. And with that choice comes a new sense of purpose and a new responsibility to make of his life something he can truly love.

Boychick On the Hill

NEARLY WORDLESS SPECIAL

I have been very busy with my business this past week, and I have also gotten a cold that turned into pleurisy. I have not posted at all!

But while I was busy last weekend, the Boychick had a trip to Washington, DC with other members of his Confirmation Class, our rabbi, and our religious educator. The nature of this trip was to learn the process of lobbying on issues provided by the Religious Action Center of Reform Judaism. Although the RAC tends to view its own progressive political vision as the "Jewish" political viewpoint--remember there is no monolithic Judaism, two Jews three opinions--we decided to send the Boychick because of what he would learn, even though he was--as we told him--going into the Belly of the Beast.

In order to arm him against progressive indoctrination, we made him watch Michael Badnarik's Constitution Course at You Tube, and we asked him to watch The Philosophy of Liberty. We talked to him about possible issues for which the RAC dogma would likely align with a more libertarian and Constitutional political philosophy. As it turned out, on the issue he chose--immigration policy--the libertarian perspective is more radical than the progressive one the RAC promotes.

The Boychick, we are told, did very well and wrote an impressive speech to give to our senators from New Mexico. He loved the trip, and felt it was not only educational, but also that being with Jewish high school students from all over the United States (from 20 different Reform congregations) was very affirming to his Jewish identity, and awakened him to the wide variety of ideas that Jews hold. Sometimes simultaneously!

The trip was money well spent. The pictures below were taken by several different people, and posted at the Facebook site for the RAC. The Boychick does not--he informs me--take pictures.

Congregation Albert Group pose on the Capitol Steps. The Boychick is in the fedora, on the far right front, holding the sign.

















Havdalah--the ritual to end Shabbat--at the Jefferson Memorial on Saturday night, after dinner in Georgetown. The Boychick says it was cold, cold, cold!





















The Boychick, being cool in his new Oakley's purchased in Georgetown, pauses in his work on his speech for the New Mexico Delegation.




















Getting ready to Lobby in the lobby. The students are dressed in suits and skirts, looking very grown up.




















At the Airport on the way home. How do I know it was on the way home? The Oakleys. I never asked what it cost. It was his money.
And he looks cool.
I just hope he doesn't lose them!


And I hope he doesn't lose his perspective.


Jews come with a variety of political viewpoints. No matter how much the Reform Movement tends towards social progressivism. The Libertarian philosopher, Murray Rothbard was a Jew. As is Aaron Zeller, the founder of Jews for the Preservation of Firearm Ownership. Statism is not a religious doctrine.

Sixteen Candles . . . and One to Grow On!

NEARLY WORDLESS WEDNESDAY

Sixteen years ago, when I was transported to the hospital in labor with the Boychick, Albuquerque was in the middle of a decade-long drought, and there was no snow in sight.

That drought ended, and we moved up to the mountains, the combination of which has meant that we regularly have snow sometime within the week of the Boychick's birthday.

Yesterday, we had snow in morning, and then snow again overnight last night, just a day after we celebrated another trip around the sun for Boychick.


Before the snow, Boychick got his wish and we spent the afternoon of his birthday in town, frequenting a guitar store, and the bookstore. We stopped and got a German Chocolate Cake, candles and T-bone. The Engineering Geek had to shovel the way to the grill, but we had the Boychick's favorite dinner.

Although he's now taller than me, he still wanted a candle "to grow on" so here is the Boychick, ready to blow out 17 candles.

The trip to the guitar shop was fruitful. The Boychick got a small amp for his birthday. Like the RCA puppy before him, Umbrae cocks his head trying to figure out what is making that noise.

The Boychick here practices his acting ability. Frankenstein, about to attack a giant piece of cake,

complete with ice cream.

At least we know the Boychick can use those calories for growning. The Engineering Geek and I have no such excuse! But we had some anyway, just to be companionable.






No, he's not twenty-one. That will happen in another five years.
But that bubbly is sparkling apple cider.
It's sweet, and it's great for a toast.

To the Boychick! Here's to another great trip around the sun!

The evening ended with entertainment provided by the Boychick and the new amp--small, but it has good sound.

Doing the dishes went quickly as we listened.

Sixteen? Soon I am going to have to come up with another nickname for the Boychick. Manchick just doesn't do it for me, somehow.

That Only a Mother . . .

In the past year or two, the Zits comics in the Sunday paper have begun to make sense in a frightening sort of way; as if the authors actually have a video of what goes on in our house.

I am sure it has something to do with Prefrontal Cortex . . .
. . .But there is something strange about my 15 year old boy and his friends:
They are like baby bears or bulls in a china shop.
They have a restless, uncoordinated energy.
They run into the chairs as if the dining room was very small instead of large as it is.
They have a permanent shadow above their upper lips, that makes the mother in me want to get them to wash their faces.
Whatever they touch seems to get dirty or broken, or both.
Their conversational skills often devolve to monosyllables spoken in deepening voices.
They want to sleep 'til noon, and they literally grow overnight.
They are at that stage that only a mother could love. And that's a stretch sometimes.

And they have put on what I call the Queen Night at the Opera attitude: "Nothing really matters . . ."

Until something does.

And then my 15 year gets into the car after school and says, "Mom, you'll never guess what we learned in Humanities today." Ah. I've got my Boychick back from wherever the alien teenager stored him.

This spring, the Boychick seems to have gotten it that we are not taking him to Machon to torture him. He comes home to tell us about what it would be like to celebrate Shabbat like the orthodox do. Or that he learned about empathy in his Leadership class because the teacher taped two fingers together on the strumming hand and he had to try to play that way . . .

Now that he's gotten over imitating what he thinks is 'cool', he is actually permitting himself to get excited about what he's learning.
And it's all very experiential.

And the sea change in attitude started with that strumming I mentioned.

This spring, when we arranged his schedule according to his Aspie needs, the Boychick insisted on keeping a Guitar and Music Theory class on his schedule. I thought: "Why not? It's something physical. And his grandmother was a concert violinist, after all. Maybe this will turn into something good for him."

And so it has.
He practices every spare moment.
Hours of video games have been replaced with hours of strumming.
He is learning to read music.
He is working to earn the use of my Guild.

Another passion has been unveiled.
Now, with some more motherly work and worry, perhaps his several passions will build together into something good for his future.


This is the faith that only a mother can summon up, when the Boychick looks like this at 11:00 AM on a Sunday morning.

Yikes! I am glad you can't see the rest of his room in the picture.

Machon: Two Steps Forward . . .Maybe

In the past few years, I have written quite a bit about the problems we have had with Machon--the teen religious education program at our synagogue.

This year, we enrolled the Boychick once again, and he has been attending on Wednesday nights, albeit reluctantly. It takes quite a bit of arranging to get him across the mountain each week. We carpool with his friend A., who also attends Machon. Every Wednesday he is picked up after school by A.'s mom, who drives both boys and a third who lives off of Frost road between the A. house and EMHS. They get to Machon in time to have dinner. This is a new feature this year: for $44/semester the kids can eat at the synagogue and have social time together as they eat. Then they have their Jewish Studies class for one hour hour, followed by an elective (another new feature this year), followed by a weekday evening service. It all ends at about 8:15 PM. I leave the COE Graduate Writing Studio at 7 PM, and I arrive at the temple at about 7:20. I wait in the lounge for the boys to be finished, and I drive A. home, and we arrive home after 9:00 PM.

There does seem to be a curriculum this year, though I have not yet got a written copy of it. This semester, the Boychick has a course on the history of Israel and Zionism for Jewish Studies, and his elective is Israeli Martial Arts. Next term, he will take A Jewish Guide to American Christianity for Jewish Studies, and Jewish Community Leadership for his elective.

And so it has been going well. Or so I thought from my perspective from the chair in the lounge where I waited for the boys to finish. Or so I thought until the day after the election. I arrive quite late that evening, it was almost 8 PM when I strolled into the lounge. C. was waiting there for me. She is the Special Education Liason for Machon. She pulled me aside and began:

C: "We need to talk about your son."
Me, to myself, parenthetically: (Why does he cease to have a name whenever there's a problem).
Me, out loud: "Oh?"
C: "He doesn't want to be here you know."
Me, to myself, parenthetically: (Tell me something new, lady).
Me, out loud: "I know."
C: "He has been disruptive lately, and K. (the new director) called me in to deal with it."
Me: "How long has this been a problem?"

To make a long story short, I was floored to find out that the Boychick had supposedly been disruptive from the beginning of the year. Why is the parent the last to know?
That led to this conversation with K., the new director of education.

K: "He has been disruptive since the first day, according to the teacher."
Me: "Why wasn't I told immediately?"
K: "Mr. S is a very dynamic teacher, and we decided to try a few things first."
C: "I think they wanted to call me in first . . ."
Me: "I see. (I really didn't see at all). Why wasn't I told about this at the beginning?"
K: "Sometimes we like to try some things first before we involve the parent."
Me, to myself, parenthetically: (Wow. Involving the parent is the last priority?)
Me, out loud: "So can you please tell me what the discipline policy in the classroom is? What interventions did you try?"
C: Mr. S is a very dynamic teacher, and there are a lot of discussions. This should be right up the Boychick's alley. But he's very angry. He wouldn't even look at me."
Me, using Premack's Principle*: "What is the discipline policy in the classroom? What interventions did you try?"
C: Tonight, when Mr. S. asked the Boychick what he thought of the election, the Boychick put his foot up on the desk and said: "This is all a bunch of crap!" He was very disrespectful."
Me, to myself, parenthetically: (I'm getting none of my questions answered. Hmmm. The election, I wonder if that's the trigger?)
Me, with one more try at Premack: "So what did you say the discipline policy in the classroom is? And what interventions have you tried with the Boychick?
K, defensively: "We really can't allow him in the classroom if he continues to be disruptive."
Me, to myself, parenthetically: (Wow! They just now tell me there's a problem and they want to kick him out. It is apparent that they haven't tried anything at all, and it is clear that this new director has not been on top of this. I wonder if the teacher even told her about it before last week? I bet not).
Me, out loud: "Well, I will talk to the Boychick and he will get a consequence for his disrespectful remark this week. But I really cannot punish him for anything in the past since I am unclear about what exactly he did, which classroom norms he violated, and what was done in response. In the meantime, it would be very helpful if you could find out exactly what has been going on in the classroom. Has this teacher had any classroom management training?"
Silence.
Me, feeling steamed from being blindsided: "I'll take the silence to mean 'no.' "

First, the Boychick did have his computer internet privileges removed for a week. The restoration of said interent privileges was contingent on a good report from the next class. C. was to be in there to monitor.

Then I had a long talk with the Boychick to find out what was triggering the behavior, which I learned was mostly a passive refusal to participate, with occasional dramatic refusals to participate. I knew there had to be a trigger. And sure enough, there was. It took awhile to get the story out of the Boychick and in an understandable sequence (that's an AS characteristic)but on the first day of class, Mr. S. had a discussion about the election (this was in September). When asked, the Boychick, a proud NRA member, said he was rooting for McCain.

Digression: I should have warned him about that. His AS blinds him to the fact that many Reform Jews are well to the left of Bill Clinton. And many of those also have the that "but of course everyone with a brain agrees" mentality. Aspies do not even begin to understand those vibes, and they also tend to be naive about the nature of political disagreement in the post-20th century world.

Note: The Boychick's support of McCain was entirely his own decision. In our household, we have one registered Democrat who votes like an independent, one registered Libertarian, who votes third party and write-in, and one too young to vote. The Chem Geek Princess is our only major-party voter, and the only one registered Republican in our family in five generations.

Anyway, the teacher was surprised, and the other kids--mostly supporting Obama--determined that the Boychick was a pariah from that moment on. A new kid in the class, one who did not know the Boychick, became the ringleader of a clique who decided to convince the Boychick of the error of his ways. Failing that over the next few weeks, they decided to snub and ridicule him. Being an Aspie, the Boychick's all-or-nothing thinking kicked in, and he decided that nobody there liked him, and that everybody hated him, including the temple administrator. "She glared at me, Mom."
Probably not.
But that was his impression.
And beneath that Aspie exterior, the Boychick has tender feelings. So he responded badly whenever the class discussed the election.

Last week, I e-mailed K. and requested a meeting. In my e-mail I made it clear that I understood that the Boychick's disrespectful remark was unacceptable and that he had received consequences for it. And I also pointed out that had I been told of the problem immediately, we could have intervened before the bullying situation had a chance to become routine. And finally, I said that I expected the politically motivated bullying to be ended immediately.

And then the Engineering Geek and I began to consider other options.
I really expected that nothing would be done. Past experience set my low expectations.
The Chem Geek Princess endured over five years of bullying there. And despite numerous attempts on my part to put an end to the situation, nothing was done. The chief bully was the son of some of the rabbi's groupies.
Finally, the Chem Geek Princess became fed-up enough to slap the bully in the face one day during Confirmation class. That was the last time anyone made a cutting remark about her or anyone else in her presence.
But she has also determined not to darken the door of this synagogue again. Too many bad memories.

When I came into the office this past Wednesday however, K. apologized for leaving me in the dark. Further, she confessed that the teacher had only come to her recently about the Boychick, and that this teacher was inexperienced and had no classroom management skills. C. told me that she had gone in and helped the teacher set up the classroom to include all of the kids, as a few, including the Boychick, had been sitting on the fringes.

Then I mentioned the bullying behavior that had started all of this.
I insisted that there needed to be an intervention about bullying for all the students, done in such a way that the Boychick is not singled out as the complainant. I also insisted that the students be taught about the First Amendment to the US Constitution, with an emphasis on freedom of speech, and the need for tolerance of political viewpoints. I pointed out that this particular Constitutional Amendment is very important to American Jews, because of the protection for religious expression. It was agreed that this special topic would be covered in a special session in February. (December's special session had already been planned).
In the meantime, I was told, K. would pull the New Kid aside for a personal talk, and the teacher would be instructed to give a short, general talk about political speech and bullying.

So.
This is very interesting. A new reaction to an old problem.

Although letting the problem grow and keeping me in the dark was one step back, the interventions could be two steps forward.
That would mean that we are making some small progress at Machon.

I am cautiously optimistic.