(Read Part1, Part 2 and Part 3 first)
Unfortunately, it wasn't Mark.
Mark felt pretty good about his science report right up until last Wednesday night, when he remembered he needed a presentation board. He informed me of this at dinner. I reminded him we were busy the next couple nights, which is why I had set aside the past Sunday to get everything done with the report. He just nodded understandingly, and after five minutes of silence, he asked if I had plans at lunchtime the next few days.
I obliviously told him my plans, until I realized why, exactly, he was asking.
"I don't have time to buy you a poster board," I told him.
"Darn it!" he answered.
Thursday night, I emailed Mark's science teacher. I wanted to tell her I knew Mark's report wasn't up to my standards or hers, and that he'd pretty much plagiarized the whole report. I told her I wasn't asking for a deadline extension or any compensations, just that Mark had put very little effort into it, and she should grade it solely on merit. (Basically, I was covering my butt, and telling her know I knew about the project and had offered help, which Mark continually refused.)
Friday morning was crazy hectic. Mark's friend Sean arrived carrying a giant green poster board. He had an elaborate report glued onto it, featuring graphs, charts, pictures and text. Mark glanced down at the flimsy report in his own hands and hung his head.
"Do you have a report cover?" he asked me later. I did not. He'd have to turn the stapled report in as is.
I drove the boys to school to protect Sean's poster board. Along the way, we passed other 6th graders carrying their own giant boards. Mark saw them too, and just sighed.
By Monday, I'd finally calmed down. The report was gone, out of my hands, and I could breathe. But after dinner, Mark told me he'd given his presentation.
I perked up when he said that, curious.
"How'd it go?" I asked. I expected him to groan, or shrug, or..actually, I was just really surprised, because I'd figured he wouldn't tell me about it at all.
"It went great!" he said. "I used up half the class time, and the kids wouldn't stop asking me questions."
And...what?!?!
"You..." I stuttered. "They...? What?"
He told me how he'd explained his experiment, and how his blood sugar went up or down based on the games he played. He told them why exercise was important, especially to diabetics. He explained what his normal blood sugar range is, and how he feels when he's out of range. He told them what to do if he ever acts really weird, like crying for no reason or talking non-stop (call for an adult). He even tested his blood for the class.
Mark said one girl kept asking questions about Type 2 diabetes, which he said he didn't know much about. But he did tell her the main differences between Type 1 and Type 2 (with Type 1, your pancreas produces no insulin at all, with Type 2, it does, but your body doesn't use it efficiently). She was worried that Type 2 was genetic, and she might get it. Mark said, "Yeah, it is genetic, so you might get it. But if you watch what you eat and exercise, it helps a lot."
I was dumbfounded. I was sitting there, mouth agape, and I couldn't believe what I was hearing.
He really has been listening! I thought to myself. All those years, all those classes, all those days at diabetes events and camps. Even though he rolls his eyes at me when I talk about diabetes...he was actually listening. And learning. And now, teaching others.
Just when I thought it couldn't get any crazier, he added, "My teacher said I did a great job. She even wrote me a note."
Unfortunately, it wasn't Mark.
Mark felt pretty good about his science report right up until last Wednesday night, when he remembered he needed a presentation board. He informed me of this at dinner. I reminded him we were busy the next couple nights, which is why I had set aside the past Sunday to get everything done with the report. He just nodded understandingly, and after five minutes of silence, he asked if I had plans at lunchtime the next few days.
I obliviously told him my plans, until I realized why, exactly, he was asking.
"I don't have time to buy you a poster board," I told him.
"Darn it!" he answered.
Thursday night, I emailed Mark's science teacher. I wanted to tell her I knew Mark's report wasn't up to my standards or hers, and that he'd pretty much plagiarized the whole report. I told her I wasn't asking for a deadline extension or any compensations, just that Mark had put very little effort into it, and she should grade it solely on merit. (Basically, I was covering my butt, and telling her know I knew about the project and had offered help, which Mark continually refused.)
Friday morning was crazy hectic. Mark's friend Sean arrived carrying a giant green poster board. He had an elaborate report glued onto it, featuring graphs, charts, pictures and text. Mark glanced down at the flimsy report in his own hands and hung his head.
"Do you have a report cover?" he asked me later. I did not. He'd have to turn the stapled report in as is.
I drove the boys to school to protect Sean's poster board. Along the way, we passed other 6th graders carrying their own giant boards. Mark saw them too, and just sighed.
By Monday, I'd finally calmed down. The report was gone, out of my hands, and I could breathe. But after dinner, Mark told me he'd given his presentation.
I perked up when he said that, curious.
"How'd it go?" I asked. I expected him to groan, or shrug, or..actually, I was just really surprised, because I'd figured he wouldn't tell me about it at all.
"It went great!" he said. "I used up half the class time, and the kids wouldn't stop asking me questions."
And...what?!?!
"You..." I stuttered. "They...? What?"
He told me how he'd explained his experiment, and how his blood sugar went up or down based on the games he played. He told them why exercise was important, especially to diabetics. He explained what his normal blood sugar range is, and how he feels when he's out of range. He told them what to do if he ever acts really weird, like crying for no reason or talking non-stop (call for an adult). He even tested his blood for the class.
Mark said one girl kept asking questions about Type 2 diabetes, which he said he didn't know much about. But he did tell her the main differences between Type 1 and Type 2 (with Type 1, your pancreas produces no insulin at all, with Type 2, it does, but your body doesn't use it efficiently). She was worried that Type 2 was genetic, and she might get it. Mark said, "Yeah, it is genetic, so you might get it. But if you watch what you eat and exercise, it helps a lot."
I was dumbfounded. I was sitting there, mouth agape, and I couldn't believe what I was hearing.
He really has been listening! I thought to myself. All those years, all those classes, all those days at diabetes events and camps. Even though he rolls his eyes at me when I talk about diabetes...he was actually listening. And learning. And now, teaching others.
Just when I thought it couldn't get any crazier, he added, "My teacher said I did a great job. She even wrote me a note."
I was speechless. I was so proud of him right then, and also completely demoralized, all at once.
"It's because you wanted him to fall on his face," my mom said, when I told her later.
"No, I didn't," I insisted. "I just wanted him to put in some effort! I wanted him to try!"
There was a moment of awkward silence over the phone.
"Fine," I admitted. "I wanted him to fail a little bit."
What I'd really wanted, what the whole point of this six-week lesson was...you have to put in more than 10 minutes of effort. You have to work hard to get good grades, you don't just get them for showing up to class. I was trying to teach Mark that to succeed, you have to work. You have to try. You have to sweat a little bit.
And what Mark taught me was...uh uh. No, actually, you don't. Mark did the same thing he's always done. He showed up, he charmed the teacher, he did it his way...and it worked.
"Dammit," I sighed to my mom. "I even emailed the teacher. And now I just look like a bitter, mean, vindictive mom."
I was looking for comfort, reassurance. I got none.
"Well..." my mom answered.
"I learned it from you!" I shouted. "The original mean, vindictive, tough mother!"
She actually laughed in my face. I thanked her for kicking me while I was down, and offered up some other wounds, in case she felt like pouring salt in them, too.
And so, yes, a lesson was indeed learned here. Turns out, however, the lesson wasn't for Mark, it was for me.
What I learned was I'm trying to hard, and I'm not at all effective as a mother or a teacher. I tried teaching Mark about hard work, and all Mark learned was that hard work is for dummies--all you really need are good speaking skills, a little charm and charisma.
I also realized another really important thing. I don't have to worry about Mark. I worry that he is lazy and doesn't work hard, but now I know it doesn't really matter. Some way, some how, Mark will always come out on top. As long as there are ladies to charm, and people willing to listen, he'll be okay.
Not only will he be okay, he'll be great...I'm telling you, this kid will probably talk his way into becoming President of the United States someday. He'll charm the whole country...and the entire nation will love everything about him, except for his grouchy, bitter, mean old mom.
I give up. I put Mark to bed, then headed to the kitchen to grab a cold beer and a strawberry Pop-Tart to cheer myself up.
There were lessons to be learned, for sure...but not by Mark.
"I learned it from you!" I shouted. "The original mean, vindictive, tough mother!"
She actually laughed in my face. I thanked her for kicking me while I was down, and offered up some other wounds, in case she felt like pouring salt in them, too.
And so, yes, a lesson was indeed learned here. Turns out, however, the lesson wasn't for Mark, it was for me.
What I learned was I'm trying to hard, and I'm not at all effective as a mother or a teacher. I tried teaching Mark about hard work, and all Mark learned was that hard work is for dummies--all you really need are good speaking skills, a little charm and charisma.
I also realized another really important thing. I don't have to worry about Mark. I worry that he is lazy and doesn't work hard, but now I know it doesn't really matter. Some way, some how, Mark will always come out on top. As long as there are ladies to charm, and people willing to listen, he'll be okay.
Not only will he be okay, he'll be great...I'm telling you, this kid will probably talk his way into becoming President of the United States someday. He'll charm the whole country...and the entire nation will love everything about him, except for his grouchy, bitter, mean old mom.
I give up. I put Mark to bed, then headed to the kitchen to grab a cold beer and a strawberry Pop-Tart to cheer myself up.
There were lessons to be learned, for sure...but not by Mark.
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