Freshman!

Mark is...sniff, sniff...graduating 8th grade next week. He's thrilled, but I'm having a tough time adjusting for two simple reasons: a) My baby's old enough to be in HIGH SCHOOL, and b) I'm old enough to be the mom of a HIGH SCHOOLER. 

Ouch.

My friends with high schoolers warn that it's crazy busy and flies by. I just didn't realize it all starts so early--like, when Mark's STILL IN EIGHTH GRADE!

That's right, he's already attended four high school events in the past few weeks--a band audition, two percussion workshops, and freshman orientation. Next week, the day after he graduates middle school, is sports orientation; practice starts the Monday after. (Then drum camp in July and marching band camp in August--whew!)

I think my smartphone's calendar might blow up in the next couple years. 

Freshman orientation was great, for me, anyway--not so much for Mark. He grumbled about it a few days beforehand, trying to convince me it was optional. But when I got home, he was decked out in clean clothes--still didn't want to go, but wanted to look good while he was there.

We shuffled past the t-shirt booth, which was confusing. The table was filled with shirts and sweatshirts, which I purchased but couldn't take home.

"He takes the shirt home on registration day," the cashier told me. 

Wanna bet? I almost answered back. I'm pretty sure I just threw 13 bucks in the trash, which is where Mark will immediately stuff his t-shirt upon receiving it. (Ironically, he's the one boy on Earth who loves clothes and shopping and attends a school district requiring uniforms.)

We ambled into the auditorium, where the program was beginning. The orientation was for Mark's small learning community, an academy within the larger high school. It's a specialty program, with a curriculum based on performing arts and social science. 

Mark identifies himself as an athlete, not a musician, but he's also a very social ham who loves the spotlight, and is a pretty decent drummer. This program's a great fit for him. Mark's a very smart kid who's never gonna excel in the highly structured AP classes colleges love, but give him a creative outlet and a team of kids to work with and he shines.

I liked the program immediately, as soon as the lead teacher said a few words, then introduced a student singing performance.

"We're a performing arts community, so we're gonna showcase our amazing students," he said proudly. And they did, all night--in between speakers, the kids sang, performed monologues, even played a snazzy rendition of "When the Saints Go Marching In" on brass, drums and piano. It was very impressive.

The teachers reminded us that while arts are the main focus, academics are also important. The English teacher discussed homework assignments--yes, homework already!--reminding students it's due on the first day of school. Mark just groaned. 

Between speakers, I completed a form in the folder we'd received.

"That's not for you," Mark snarled, trying to grab it from me. "You don't have to fill that out!"

"It IS for me," I answered, pointing at the title--Parent's Booster Club. Mark sank down in his chair--the only thing worse than being a new freshman is being a new freshman whose mom--gasp!--wants to participate. I look at it as involved parenting, my loving son sees it as a million opportunities for me to embarrass him to death. You say to-may-to, I say to-mah-to.

And then, as if she'd read our minds, the speaker told us that parents are welcome at all student performances--even if students tell us otherwise.

"We want parents to come to everything," she said. "Don't listen to your kids if they say you're not invited!" 

I smirked at Mark, who sank even further.

The teacher also spoke excitedly about the freshman registration day and a new three-day intro to high school bridging class, which teaches kids how to succeed in high school.

"Don't you dare sign me up for that!" Mark warned, and I just smiled at him. It's cute how he thinks these decisions are up to him.

The English teacher returned to the podium. He was dry, funny and sarcastic. I liked him a lot, as did his students in the front row, who cheered and applauded for him. He spoke about the importance of getting involved, and listed the many opportunities--band, dance, drama, photography, the visual arts. He spoke about the fine art show next week, and the World War I museum the students created last semester. He brought a journalism student onstage, who spoke glowingly about the student newspaper. I took it all in, wishing there'd been a similar program when I was in school.

"That was awesome," I told Mark when it was over. "Are you excited?" 

"Eh," he shrugged. "I wasn't really listening." 

"You'll love The Outsiders," I said, referring to his summer reading. 

"Homework in the summer!" he scowled. "Seriously?" 

"I know, right?" I said. "Not cool!"

I was with him on that one. I'm all for keeping kids busy, but man, whatever happened to summer "break"?

Oh well, a minor quibble. I left the school happy, optimistic, and glad Mark was accepted into the program (the most requested one in the district, the teachers proudly noted). 

It'll go fast, for sure, and be hectic, but also great for Mark. 

"I'm sleeping all summer," I told Mark, "because we won't rest for the next four years." 

Mark nodded in agreement, but as I looked through the list of clubs and activities, I realized it's probably too late. 

The madness has already begun...

Problem solving

Mark's only in fifth grade, but he's already fretting about high school.

"Did you know that if you're in the band in high school, they call you a band geek?" he asked. I could see he was having second thoughts about joining the drum line.

I nodded my head, and answered, "Yeah, you know who else was a band geek? Jon Bon Jovi! Paul McCartney! Lady Gaga! Every millionaire rock star out there was probably a band geek."

He looked at me, unconvinced.

"What, you think rock stars don't play instruments until they're famous?" I asked. "Of course not, they learn when they're kids. And how do they get good at it?"

"Practice," Mark sighed. Practice is his least favorite part about playing drums.

"That's right," I said. "And where do they practice?"

"In band," Mark answered. Correct again!

Then I realized maybe I was missing the point here. I was indignant about my kid being called a band geek, when he was actually still years away from joining the band.

This isn't about drums, I thought. It's about being teased. So I tried a different tact. It was self-esteem building time--a little boost now would go a long way in high school.

"How would you feel if someone called you a band geek?" I asked, channeling my own internal Dr. Phil.

"I'd smack 'em with my drum sticks," Mark answered.

I'd hoped for a more...verbal...answer. I suggested some possible comebacks.

"Tell them you're a rock star in the making," I said. "Say, 'I might not look like it now, but someday, I'll be a famous rock star.' Tell them every famous musician started somewhere, and this is where you're starting."

I was prepared to keep going, to keep feeding him politically-correct answers, but he looked at me doubtfully and rolled his eyes.

"What?" I asked. "You don't like my answers?"

"I like mine better," Mark said. "I'm just gonna smack them with my drum sticks. That'll stop 'em, trust me."

He had me there. One good hit would shut me up.

I sighed. "So you're saying even though I'm giving you all these peaceful answers, even though I'm building up your self-esteem, you'd still resort to violence instead?"

"Yup," he said. Now he was smiling. "Bet they won't expect that from a band geek!"

And then I smiled with him. Turns out, he has plenty of self-confidence already.