Mark rocked it during his songs. He's come a long way on the drums, although he still has some work to do in the rock star facial expressions department. On the other hand, he's definitely mastered the bored teenager empty stare.
The jazz band sounded great. The music teacher, Mrs. Saum, is fantastic, both with the kids and with teaching music. I feel so lucky Mark's school has such a great music program.
After the mini concert, it was on to the classrooms.
"Stay with me," I warned Mark, who frequently ignores me and pretends I'm invisible. "Don't walk five steps ahead or behind me. And I don't have ESP, so show me where your classes are."
Mark sighed, looked off in the other direction, and dragged his feet alongside me.
"Don't worry," I whispered. "All the other kids have parents, too--you're not the only one."
This time, he didn't even bother to respond.
We arrived at the first class, health. Mark tried herding me past the teacher (who also teaches P.E.), but I stopped right in front of her and introduced myself. She was sweet, friendly, and encouraged Mark to show me what they'd been learning about.
"Yeah, Mark, show me what you've learned," I said, really loudly. I know they've been studying sex ed (or whatever they call it these days), and I knew Mark wouldn't go anywhere near the board displaying their work.
"Come on, Mom," he growled. He grabbed my elbow and dragged me around the room as fast as he possibly could.
"Happy?" he grunted, pushing me out the door.
"Nice to meet you!" I called back to the teacher.
Next up was Language Arts (we used to call it "English"). A gaggle of girls was gathered around the doorway, and they perked up when they saw Mark.
"Hey Mark, why don't you buy a 'Dimensions'?" they asked, waving the school creative writing magazine in front of him.
"Yeah, Mark, why don't you buy one?" I repeated.
The girls jumped all over that.
"Listen to your mom, Mark!" they cried. "Your mom's right, Mark!" "Your mom's so nice, Mark!"
Mark buried his head in his hands. I realized now why he tries to ignore me. Little snit. So I spent a good five minutes talking to the creative writing/photography students--heck, these were my people!
The English teacher had many accolades for Mark, proclaiming him a deep thinker, with very wise, mature thoughts. That was wonderful to hear--I totally agree. When Mark and I aren't having immature contests or irritating each other, we actually do have very thoughtful conversations.
Every inch of the English room was covered up--there were even things hanging from the ceiling. I reached into the box containing the student folders, and Mark immediately tried to block me.
"Mine's not in there," he said, covering the folders with his hand to prevent me from searching. The box was full, overstuffed even, and not in alphabetical (or any other) order. I just shrugged; he's got a B in the class, so I wasn't that concerned. Besides, the claustrophobic room was closing in on me and I wanted out.
It was on to math next. This class was the exact opposite of English--the walls were covered, but in a very neat, orderly fashion, with white space in between. Everything was perfectly lined up, straight, and nothing fell from the ceiling.
Mark beelined for the box of student folders, but I beat him. These folders were also in perfect order, and I found his right away. I grimaced at the results of the last few tests, and spoke a few minutes with the teacher.
Last up was the yearbook and history teacher. Mark's doing well in both of those classes, so I heard good news there, too.
We wound our way through the campus, stopping for a quick peek at the 7th graders' new garden. It was gorgeous, and made me hungry (it was dinner time).
I congratulated Mark on all the outstanding comments his teachers shared, though he was still busy moping about his math grade.
"Listen, I'm not worried about math," I said. "You'll get it together, or we'll get a tutor. That's just academic--I can teach you that."
Mark looked at me warily.
"Well, someone's who good at math can teach you," I clarified. "But all the other stuff--what a nice kid you are, what a caring kid, what a deep thinker...those aren't just learned responses or something you study hard and memorize. Those go deeper than academics--they tell me what kind of person you are. And I'd rather have that kind of kid than a straight A student any day."
He shrugged. I sighed. I wanted to hug him, but knew that was a mortal sin in a middle school--some other kid might see it.
"Whatever," I said, walking off. "I'm proud of you, and proud of the boy you are, and you can't change my mind."
Mark shrugged again and followed me silently.
"Now let's go," I said, glancing back at the growing salad. "I'm hungry!"
And finally, Mark did something completely contrary to his middle school nature.
He smiled. And agreed with me.
Maybe there's still hope after all...
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