The wheels on the car go round and round

March 2nd was Alex's Magic Day--the day he was old enough to take the test to get his learner's permit. I've tortured him for weeks with it, never saying whether we were going to allow him to take the test or not. He asked, but the answer was always, "We'll see." There was no needed explanation for "we'll see" because he knows well what it means. We'll see about grades, behavior, cooperation, attitude, and how good the bribes are.

We had no intention of not allowing him to take the test, but I also know better than to promise anything. If he'd shown up with another tattoo, there would be no permit. Slacked off on his share of the kids' chores, no permit. There were a lot of things that could get in between him and that trip to the DMV, and I wasn't saying yes or no until the evening of March 1st. There was only one incident lately that had "no" on the tip of my tongue, one that only would have delayed it a day or two, when he exploded at Kevin for being in his room. Kids yell at each other, sure, but that doesn't mean we allow it as a matter of course. But, when Char pointed out that Alex had asked him nicely to stay out of his room because he had math homework papers all over the place and he really didn't want anything scattered, but Kevin went in anyway and moved a critical paper, I could hardly hold that against him.

Wednesday morning before his first class I took him to take the test; we waited an hour before he could take it, it only took him 10 minutes to take the actual test, and it was another 30 minutes of bullshit waiting until he had her permit in hand.

And then I was a total dick and would not let him drive to school.

After I picked him up in the afternoon I took him to the old dojang and let him drive around the parking lot at about 15 mph, and he practiced braking, backing up, and parking, and it was enough to make him happy. I'll take him back tomorrow, but I'm not letting him onto a street until he's started driver's ed, which begins Monday.

Char refuses to be the parent responsible for teaching him to drive. She doesn't want to be in the car until I'm sure he's a good driver; it's less a fear of what might go wrong and that he's going to wreck than it is a fear that she's going to shriek and scare him at the wrong moment. This is fine; my mother wouldn't ride with me for a long time, either. I was taught to drive by my dad, who wasn't driving at all at the time.

I am resigned to not driving for the next six months, at least when it's just the two of us in the car. I don't think he'll be practicing with the other kids in the car yet.

I have no real worries about how good a driver he'll be. I worry about the fact that when he gets his license he'll have a 16 year old's brain in his head, and with that comes questionable judgment. I worry that he'll be 16, with his own car, a girlfriend, and will no longer be chauffeured around on dates. That combined with the 16 year old brain, it gives me pause.

For now, though, I'm going to try to enjoy the process of watching him grow a little. I haven't forgotten what a big deal getting my license was and how it felt the first time I took the car out on my own. I never would have guessed that my parents were probably nervous wrecks about it, and I hope he doesn't realize it, either.

The things heroes are made of

Char and I sat in the warmth and dryness of the car while we waited for school to let out; it was rainy and heavily windy, and as the kids practically fought their way across the parking lot, hair whipping around wildly, Char mused that it was time to take the boys for haircuts.

I reminded her that Kevin wanted a mohawk.

Her sigh was tinged with resignation, but she nodded and said it was fine; everyone else was right, the hair would grow back if he hated it. Her only caveat was to not get the sides shaved; he could have the mohawk, but only sort of. Leave a quarter inch of hair, two to three on top, so that if he really hated it, we could cut it and he'd still have hair.

Worked for me.

I dropped her and Rachel off at home and took the boys to the barber. This guy has been cutting their hair as long as I can remember; I don't think he gave Alex his first non-parental haircut, but it's been almost that long. He's as old as Moses, but he keeps up with trends, and neither of them have ever had a problem decribing what they want.

Alex keeps his hair on the longish side; it's never been down to his shoulders, but it's thick and just long enough that it drives Brad nuts and inspires the occasional "Alexandria" comment. It doesn't matter to me; he can grow it as long as the school dress code allows as long as he keeps it clean and combed. I don't even watch as he gets it cut; he's long past the age where he needs supervision or permission for what he wants.

Kevin, on the other hand, at least needs to check with me before the scissors come out. He sat next to me while Alex went first, and once Alex was in the chair I told him that his mother had agreed; he could get the mohawk as long as the sides weren't shaved.

He sighed much the same way Char had, and said No. Elizabeth thinks it would look weird and everyone would make fun of me, so I don't want one now.

Telling him that what everyone else thought didn't matter was pointless; he's eleven, he cares what his friends think. But, he didn't want the same "little boy" haircut; he had no idea what he wanted. While he waited for his turn, he looked though a few books, and didn't find anything he liked.

And then Alex was done.

He came into the waiting area, his hair now nearly military short; trimmed over the ears, seriously tapered in back, just a little bit longer on top. He looks a little older even, and far more serious.

Kevin went wide-eyed and asked quietly, Can I copy your haircut?

Alex grunted Sure as he flopped down into the chair and Kevin damn near floated back to get his hair cut. That Alex didn't mind being copied meant a lot to Kevin; he still has a bit of hero-worship going on for his older brother, and there aren't many things he can copy from Alex.

But the haircut, that was one, and I don't think I've ever seen him so happy to have it done.

Where Alex looks a little older (he didn't need that) and a little more serious, Kevin looks like a preteen trying hard, but it suits him.

On the way home, Kevin reminded me that we'd said that if he could save enough money to get his ear pierced, he could do it. And he asked Rachel, who told him it only cost her fifteen dollars to get hers done, and That was BOTH ears!

I agree; we had said that.

I have twenty dollars, he informed me. Can I still do it?

Char might get upset, but we'd agreed to it, so I told him yes, he could still do it--but not today. Give Mom a little fair warning.

And ask Elizabeth if it's all right, Alex teased.

Kevin just smiled. Elizabeth, it seems, loves the idea. She thinks he should get a tiny diamond stud at first, and then get a hoop later.

You'll look good Alex assured him. If it really looks good, can I copy you?

I'm surprised Kevin didn't explode with joy right there in the back seat.

So tomorrow after school I'm taking them both to the mall, God help me, and letting Kevin get his ear pierced, and in all liklihood, Alex as well.

I bet Alex checks with Stephanie first, though.

I would.

He can hate me for it, too bad

One of the things Alex was looking forward to for spring was getting a shot at making the swim team. Without daily TKD he has the time, and he's a decent swimmer, so we signed the permission slip for him to get a sports physical at school.

Stripped down to his underwear, his tattoo was noticed.

His tattoo is a violation of the school's code of conduct, and might keep him from being on the team if he makes it. He can still try out, but the coach is "looking into it" and doesn't seem hopeful that he'll be allowed on the team even if he's good enough.

He hasn't asked, but I know he wants me to go to bat for him, exert some pressure because, as he puts it, it's not an obscene image and it has nothing to do with his ability to swim.

But I won't.

He got the tattoo knowing it was against the rules, school and home, and he can suffer the consequences.

I usually feel bad when one of the kids comes up against something they want help with and I can't give it, but not this time.

The boy is smart, but...

I have experience on my side.

Kids just don't open up if they feel like they're being attacked, nor will they talk if they think they're being pushed too hard or their privacy invaded too deeply, but I had to get Alex to talk to me. He's open about asking questions (and I've been borderline surprised with his frankness in some of the things he's asked me) but is understandably closed mouthed when it comes to discussing personal experience.

I don't blame him for it. I'm not sure I could have discussed it with my father if he had been open to such discussions; he might have been, but I was sure all I would get from him was an admonition to get my mind out of the gutter, keep my hands to myself, and leave that poor girl alone.

Alex today is a different kid than Alex a year ago; he has matured in leaps and bounds, and is no longer angry that we put an end to his so-called relationship with the 16 year old, but that doesn't mean he wants to discuss it. That he doesn't want to discuss it doesn't mean that he shouldn't.

So, Brad and I decided to go shoot a few games of pool this afternoon and to grab a pizza and a couple of beers, and we invited Alex along. Men only, no women, girls, or little boys allowed. He jumped at it; this was different than boys night out, where his little brother tags along. This was just the guys, and it was at a bar. He's been in the bar before (Brad works there) but he's never been allowed to stay.

If I wanted him to talk like an adult, I needed to treat him like one.

Brad knew where I wanted to converation to go; he also knew I didn't want to force it. If we didn't get Alex relaxed and headed in that direction today, it was at least a start; the more he gets used to hanging around with us, and the flow of the conversations we have--and Brad and I do have some conversations that would freak Char out--he more he'll open up.

That was the hope, anyway.

Brad has an interesting love life; he dates (a lot would be an understatement) but tends to keep the women he's with at arms' length. He has no interest in ever getting married and doesn't see a point in anything seriously long term; he also agrees that the kids should be shielded from 99% of his love life, because he doesn't want for them the life he's had. Today, though, he let Alex have a glimpse. He discussed his current girlfriend, someone he thinks might be around for a little while. He alluded to his frustrations in trying to figure her out, trying to decide if the age difference was just too much to get past. How tired he gets being with her.

That was something I could empathize over. No, we didn't get graphic. We didn't discuss the details of our sex lives but we touched on the frustrations of certain aspects of our relationships. Trying to figure out what women really wanted, how to negotiate what we really wanted.

And Alex talked.

It's just as confusing when the women are older than you. You don't know what they really want, and they don't feel like they should have to tell you, because you're just supposed to know. If you try to guess, you get it wrong, and when you try to fix it, you wind up doing things you just don't think you should be doing. Things like going out to The Jungle, risking the judgment of your friends, and the potential for catching all kinds of crap from the older guys.

We let him talk without trying to make a big deal about it. I didn't want to say anything that was going to make him clam up, but at one point he did look right at me and ask how pissed off I was going to be.

There is no getting pissed off during a guy's night out.

Yet, he asked that, and I felt my stomach drop. He was thirteen, for God's sake, and no matter how open I want to be about sex with him, thirteen is far too young for anyone to have sex.

He kept talking. The more he talked, the more relieved I became. The more he talked, the more I realized he was not as angry about being forced to break it off with her as he'd let on. He knew he wasn't ready for where they were headed, and if we'd allowed the relationship to continue, sex is what would have happened. And that terrified him.

My son has done a few things I would prefer he hadn't, but in reality he hasn't done anything I probably hadn't by the time I was his age, the little I could get away with after dating Kathy for six or seven months. He's carried a huge amount of guilt over it, though, and could see no way for repentance without confession, and he was not confessing any of it.

I didn't think he needed to. All he needed was assurance that in the bigger picture, he didn't really do anything wrong.

I'm not sure he believed me, not until Brad polished off the rest of his beer and said, with an air of authority I can't pull off, God gave 'em tits for a reason, and he's not going to blame you for copping a feel.

Alex tried to nod knowingly, started to take a sip of his Coke, but then Brad added And God knows a little dry humping isn't going to make your pecker fall off.

I was not surprised to hear that come out of Brad, but I think Alex was.

As big as that conversation was, it was a fraction of the afternoon; I got what I wanted, Brad knew it, and managed to steer the conversation away from Alex's love life to finishing the renovations on his house. Since we're not going skiing over spring break as planned, they decided the coming week was a good time to tackle the bathroom, so Monday we're ripping everything out of the master bath, and Alex is going to learn how not like HGTV this is going to be.

Even though I hate ironing...

While the kids were cleaning up after breakfast this morning, I told Ian to get me the suit pants and shirt he wanted to wear to church tomorrow, and I would iron it (this falls under laundry, so no, I won't let him anywhere near the iron, because I've seen what he does with it.) Before he could get up from the table Alex leaned across the kitchen island and asked if I would iron a dress shirt for him as well.

Ian wanted to know where he was going that he needed a freshly ironed dress shirt.

"Tomorrow is Easter," he replied, barely restraining himself from adding "Duh!" to that.

We thought he was done with church.

"I'm done with Catholicism. I'm not done with God. I'll go to church with you tomorrow and for stuff like Christmas."

I told him to go get the shirt, and as he walked past I hear Ian mutter, "I'll be damned" as he got up.

I'm not sure if Alex is going for himself of for his father, but I'm betting on the latter, and judging from how choked up Ian was, I think he does, too.

Losing My Religion

Alex is a news hound. He's the kid who reads the newspaper every day, and tries to get a few of the headlining stories in before leaving for school. He subscribes to Newsweek and Time, often picks up another news magazine while standing in line at the store, and he surfs around online for updates to the day's news.

Before school this morning he checked the headlines online, and by the time Char was telling him to get his stuff together and come out for breakfast, he'd read this in several incarnations. That he was angry is an understatement, but more than that, sadly, he wasn't surprised.

He brought his laptop out to the table and showed me a few of the articles he'd read, and when I was done reading, before I could even say anything to him, he looked right at me and said, I'm done with it, Dad.

I know he expected an argument, and Rachel and Kevin braced for it (and hoped for it, I think), but it seemed like the wrong thing to do. His belief in organized religion as a whole has eroded over the last few years, and lately he's been increasingly vocal about his specific issues with the Catholic church. Where a few months ago he was agreeable with the idea that he would still function as a church member, partake in school activities and attend church with us every week until he was sixteen, the look on his face this morning was absolute: he is honestly done.

We could force the issue; we are within our parental rights to drag his ass out of bed every Sunday morning and require him to go through the motions, but to what end? The last thing I want to do is foster a systemic disbelief in him, and I don't want to be the catalyst that pushes him to feel as if he needs to prove the absence of theism. If we give him this now, give him the freedom to explore how what he believes fits in with the world he sees, I'm hoping he'll cultivate faith on a level that works for him.

It would have been nice if he had been able to take a few more years to slowly pull away instead of feeling like he was shoved out, but I completely understand where he's coming from, and to be honest, I'm reaching the end of my own religious rope here. The only thing that has me holding onto it is my kids; Char wasn't raised Catholic and doesn't have a particular belief in Catholic dogma. This is something she's done for me, because it was important to me.

Alex has a dozen reasons for wanting to head in his own direction, and I have a gut feeling Kevin will run from it in a few years. Rachel is only there because her friends are; she finds much of it absurd and has almost as many questions as Alex does, but because her entire social life is tied into that school, she'll likely hold on longer.

But when she lets go, I'm not sure there will be anything left of it for me to want to hold onto.

Until Alex started questioning so openly, I honestly did not realize how many of my own doubts that I had. But this morning, just the idea that the man who is supposed to be infallible in matters of the church may have not only covered up a mass molestation by a single priest, but used bribery to achieve that cover up?

This isn't the church I grew up in, not anymore.

Bringing Down the House

As much as it seems like it might be, life in UndrVille Estates is not revolving around my crotch. In fact, other when Char tries to torment me, knowing I don't yet have my doc's clearance to go very far at all, and when I have to pop a pill for the pain (which was only once today and once yesterday, courtesy of Goofy, formerly known as Dingleberry, when he landed on me after leaping off the headboard) it hasn't exactly been a topic of discussion at home.

Over the weekend the topic was term papers and book reports, which required trips to the library and bookstore, and a major discussion on the topic of an essay Alex is drafting for English class. They're spending a few weeks on the journalistic process, and this week they're working on op-ed pieces. He's tackling the subject of the Church as an imperfect entity; Char and I are not at all sure this is a good idea, but the assignment sheet clearly states the subject matter is up to the student and is not graded on the content of their opinion, but the basis for their arguments as supported by fact and the clarity of the writing: spelling and grammar count.

My son is going to shred the Catholic church. In an English class held in a Catholic school.

His arguments are well thought out and he has plenty of supporting research material (as it applies to his opinion) and he has the ability to write the essay without it becoming a bullying statement, but Char and I keep bringing up the same point: it's a Catholic school, son, and this is not going to go over well.

He'll either get an A, or get suspended. He won't get expelled, because if he goes so do Rachel and Kevin, and along with it all that tuition money and the random “donations” throughout the school year.

Alex will back down and write something else if we insist, but how can we? We've spent fourteen years raising this kid to think and speak for himself, and we've encouraged him to voice his opinion as long as he can state it without attacking someone personally and without making the target of his opinion feel stupid or worthless. He can do this and maintain respect; we can't tell him to not write the essay.

That doesn't make us feel at ease with it.

Tomorrow he and Char expect to get their test results. Who knows, he may go out in a blaze of glory and find life will be much more comfortable out of high school. I hope not, but we're bracing for it.

It feels a bit chicken-little-like to be worrying about Alex's classes over the next couple of years. We know that one way or the other things will resolve; I think we just resent being put in this position in the first place. We're also worried about what this forebodes. They're cutting some very important classes, so what's next? We know a tuition hike is coming next year, more money for fewer educational opportunities for out kids, but will anything else happen? Will the school even survive? Next year we might be looking back laughing at ourselves for getting worked up over this, but I think we both worry that this might mean more than just an inconvenience in transporting Alex around and a few more dollars being spent to cram more into his brain.

For right now, Alex is excited about the idea that he'll be taking a few classes at the community college, and if we leave it completely up to him, that's what he'll do. He's pointed out more than once that Evan will have his driver's license in November and that would only leave us inconvenienced for a couple of months, but he doesn't want to admit that just because Evan has a license that doesn't mean he'll have a car, or even permission to be their driver. To their credit, neither one wants to test out of high school completely; they don't want to miss out on everything that will go on during their senior year, and left unsaid is that they don't want to leave their girlfriends behind.

If this is the way we go, and the more we talk the more likely it seems, Ian will probably use it as an opportunity to take a class or two, rather than making the drive to pick the kids up, drop them off, then go back two hours later. If he does, I pity the teachers, because I suspect he is one annoying student to have.

You know how nerve grating it is when people brag about how smart their kids are, especially when it's couched in complaints about it? That's exactly what this sounds like. We have a kid with brains, and it poses problems for us every now and then, and right now, the needs his intelligence creates is problematic.

He started out in the public school system, until his teachers basically threw their hands up and asked us to move him up a grade (something he didn't want to do) or home school him (something we didn't want to do.) At the same time, he was bored out of his mind, and was starting to hate school. The grade school had no gifted program; quite the opposite, the more we poked into it the more we realized not only were they teaching for testing, they were also teaching to the slowest kids in the class, leaving behind the kids who were average or slightly above average. We made the then painful (for Alex) decision to pull him out of the public school and enroll him and Rachel into a parochial school. They had the programs he needed, and looking beyond grade school, if he continued on the pace he was at, they would have the classes he would need in high school.

It's not cheap. The tuition for this school for three kids is like buying a new, nicely-loaded car every damned year, but we've always justified it as worth it because the kids are getting a very good education. We often refer to the school (not quite fondly) as Our Lady of Perpetual Hands Out, because on top of the tuition they're always asking for donations to fund non-academic programs, like drama, band, choir, and sports. We've donated every year we've been asked, because those things make up part of the school experience we want our kids to have. Rachel and Kevin participate in choir. They all go to see their friends in drama. They cheer on the sports teams.

A few days ago Char and I were called in to see Alex's counselor; the gist of it is that as of the end of this school year they're losing (getting rid of) most of their advanced academics. Enrollment has dropped and cuts have to be made. For Alex this means that some of the classes he would have taken, calculus, advanced biology, chem 2, physics, and trig, will no longer be available. What the school wants us to do is enroll him in the community college part time so that he can still take those classes, and leave him in the high school part time to finish up the required classes he needs to graduate.

There is no part-time tuition for this school; if he's there for one class a day or six, we're still paying the full tuition.

Theoretically, he could test out of every class he needs and graduate early. Realistically, he's a very social kid and needs to be in school with kids his own age. He needs to be around his friends, and he needs to have as much of the high school experience that he can. He's just started dating, and he should have the chance to get to know as many girls as he can if he wants; I don't think that option will be available to him if he leave high school too early. I don't care how damned smart he is; he deserves what's left of his childhood.

The past few days most of what Char and I have discussed in private is what to do about this; we don't want to do the wrong thing and we're not 100% sure what the right thing is. Yesterday Char was on the phone with Evan's mother finalizing plans for the boys' Valentine's day dates, and realized (because, hell, we're just not as smart as Alex is) we aren't the only parents grappling with this. Evan's parents are also trying to decide what to do; pull him out, send him to the community college, or both. This is especially problematic for them, because they both work and can't take off in the middle of the day to pick Evan up from one school and take him to another.


It was an excuse to meet with Evan's parents for lunch today. There are undoubtedly other kids in their class affected by this, but for now we're focusing on these two and what we can do for them. They shared our concerns about a social life for their son; he's a little older than Alex but has been very shy and has only recently worked up the nerve to speak to girls. They're afraid that if they pull him out of school that he'll never get past the shyness that has until now held him back. He's learning confidence from his friends; remove him from that environment and his foundation crumbles. None of us want our kids to look back and have regrets about what they missed if we have them test out and move on.

Yet, these boys have post high school goals that require having those advanced classes. I am annoyed at having to pay full tuition for Alex to take just a couple of high school classes, and then piling more tuition on top of it. But annoyed is all I am; Evan's mother works solely to pay for his tuition, and finding the funds for college classes and books on top of that is expecting nearly the impossible.

Granted, the changes don't take place until next fall, but we all have to decide soon, because they have to take placement tests for math and science in order to secure enrollment. Evan's parents need to secure financial aid. And none of us want our lives to become reduced to being a student taxi service, but that may be where we're headed, until one of the boys gets a driver's license.

Granted, too, unless I win the battle of Will Undr Get A Job* before then, Char and I can jockey the driving of kids around, and if we're hauling Alex back and forth we can haul Evan as well, but it will be a giant pain in the ass, and I think we all resent being put in this position.

*a battle I am currently losing.

Valentine's Day is usually on me; sexist or not, I tend to pick what we do and where, and I typically like to surprise Char with something I think she'll enjoy. I made plans for this year, something I thought would be romantic but not over the top, given her dislike of expensive fine dining. Erin said she would watch the kids, given that Miko is out of town and Brad has plans of his own.

I hadn't factored Alex into the equation, though. He obviously doesn't drive, and this is his first Valentine's Day with a girlfriend. We still could have proceeded with our plans and driven him and Stephanie where they wanted to go and then picked them up, but Char overheard him talking to Evan, and realized the boys were debating three choices. They could get their girlfriends gifts, or take them out to dinner, or to a movie, but with limited funds they had to pick one, and that seemed "kind of lame."

We just celebrated our anniversary, Char pointed out to me, and we did it right with the trip and all, so if I didn't mind, she had an idea to present to Alex, and if he went for it, that meant we weren't going anywhere.

I wasn't thrilled with it, but I have more options and cash than my son does, and Char doesn't mind putting off our plans for later.

And Alex liked her idea.

Char wanted to cook for them; we'd set the table using the rarely-used china, silverware, and light candles, and she would cook something special for them. We would serve. And once they had food on the table, she and I would leave them alone, hiding in the back of the house (with the right to wander in unannounced at random intervals.) Rachel and Kevin could go to Erin's and play with their cousins, and Alex and Evan would be able to buy gifts for their girlfriends and treat them to a nice dinner.

So tonight, instead of taking my wife out and potentially getting to do things to her in the back seat of the car, I drove Alex to pick up Stephanie, Evan, and his girlfriend. Char decorated the dining room for a definite Valentine's dinner and had the mood lighting set and music on when I got back with all of them. And now we're sitting in our bedroom, waiting for the lull in their laughter and conversation to cue me into driving the kids home, which I don't expect for a couple more hours.

I can't really complain, other than not being able to cave into my impulses right now. Alex is probably having a good time, and I got to have pizza on the bed.

Alex and I had lunch together today after spending the morning working on forms. Watching him eat these days is a true WTF? kind of thing and I'm not sure how he fits all that food into his stomach at one time, but it's also a bit fascinating at the same time. And I'm not sure how we got from What kind of pizza do you want? to religion, but we got there in short order.

How mad would you get if I decided I wasn't Catholic?

I wouldn't. (He's at the same age I was when I started picking apart the faith in which I'd been raised. I never voiced those doubts to my parents because they weren't just Catholic, they were Catholic. Any doubts I had would have been, I was sure, their personal failures.)

What if I didn't want to go to church anymore?

I'm not sure. You would have to have incredibly compelling reasons beyond wanting to sleep in later on Sundays.

I don't think the pope is infallible.

Neither do I.

I think women should be allowed to be priests.

So do I.

And priests should be allowed to get married.

So do-- (he got me there; he knows I'm conflicted on that particular issue, and he knows why.) That one is open for debate.

I don't think birth control is a sin.

I had a vasectomy. What does that tell you?

Why are you still Catholic then, Dad?

Unlike myself at his age, Alex has a firm grasp on what he believes; he worries that it contradicts the things he's been taught as he's grown up and that his mother and I will be crushed if he takes a different path.Our goal was never to raise kids who towed the line because we told them to; we've always wanted them to come to faith on their own. I don't care if he chooses to believe in something else, as long as he believes.

I'm not sure if I can articulate to him why I'm still Catholic, and why it was important to me to raise my kids in the same church I was raised in. But I can tell him that even Mother Theresa had her doubts, and they're prefectly normal. I can tell him, too, that I don't think there's anything wrong with setting aside the things you simply cannot agree with and embracing the things with which you do agree.

Someday he may find something else that meshes a bit better with what he believes, and we won't give him a hard time over it. Or someday he may find himself in the same place I've found myself, unable to pray without genuflecting, turning to the familiar when the shit hits the fan because that's what's deeply ingrained, reciting the Rosary because the numbness won't let anything else come out.

Until then, however, he's dragging his ass out of bed every Sunday with the rest of us.

The kids hate it, but every year we drag them to the doctor for a physical, and because they have relative free schedules, we always make the appointments over Christmas break. You can imagine how excited they get over the potential for immunizations right before Christmas. This year we delayed it until just before New Year's Eve, when the only one who might be inconvenienced by post-inoculation pain and malaise would be Alex. We're fair parents like that.

We dragged them out of bed early today, shoved them each toward a shower, then fed them, and amidst a plethora of complaining pushed them into the car and took them for the annual end-of-the-year exam and emotional torture. They've seen the same pediatrician since birth, and while they grumble the entire ride, once they're in the waiting room (the same place where Alex once dropped his pants to demonstrate that he was 'a big boy') they're fine and at least partially animated. They go in one at a time; I stay in the waiting room with the kids not being examined and Char goes in with the kid being poked at.

The waiting room was loaded with kids today, mostly hacking and wheezing kids with snot dripping down their faces. Alex sat there with his arms crossed over his chest, watching them with bareky contained repulsion, and I realized this kid was head and shoulders above most of the people in the room, parents included. He tolerated it because he had to be there, but he wasn't happy about it.

Kevin went in first, followed by Rachel; when it was Alex's turn, he asked Char if she would mind if I went back with him. She tried not to grin; she expected it and could hardly blame him for not wanting to strip down to his underwear in front of her. He wasn't thrilled with the idea of sitting there in his briefs with me in the room, either, but that was more tolerable.

But, we were both met with the unexpected; instead of turning left once through the door the nurse took us right, and settled us into the doctor's office instead of an exam room.

It's time, the doctor felt, for Alex to start seeing another physician instead. He was free to stay with the pediatric clinic if he was more comfortable, but the issues he would be facing in the next few years would possibly be better addressed by an adolescent pediatrician, or even the physician his mother and I see. His oldest patients tend to be under 12 (I gathered that after that parents transition their kids to their own doctors) and while he can treat Alex, there are things he may not do as well with (and left unsaid: Alex is 14 stuffed into the body of a 17-18 year old. He probably has more body hair than 10 of his typical patients combined.)

Alex opted to start seeing my doctor; we left there with an appointment for later in the day; once we were there I went to the exam room with him for about 15 minutes, After the doctor came in and introduced himself to Alex, I was invited (pushed) to go back to the waiting room.

Whatever they were going to discuss, I was not going to be a part of it. I was well aware that I could insist on staying, or speak with the doctor after the fact, but Alex made the move to a new doctor for a reason, and I can respect his privacy.

Not that I didn't ask him on the way home how it went.

Same old shit. Breathe deep, exhale. Touch your toes. Turn your head and freaking cough. Does he make you do that? I only had to do that on sports physical before.

He was assured that yes, I have to do that. And was relieved he's far too young to worry about a prostate exam.

Still. Today was another reminder that he's this much closer to being an adult. The kid who dropped his pants in the waiting room when he was two said goodbye to the doctor who hadn't intended to get that sort of response to his questions twelve years ago.

He's another inch taller. He's 6'1". He hit 165 pounds, and it's all muscle.

He needs a haircut, but I'm reticent to suggest it, because that thick moppet hair is about the only thing that suggests he's as young as he is.

This whole getting older thing kind of sucks.

Best part for all the kids: no shots this time.

Alex is intelligent. This isn't simple parental bias: Alex's intelligence is quantifiable and has propelled him to do things sooner than other kids his age. He spoke early, he walked early, he potty-trained very early. He was encouraged to skip grades from second grade onward, but resisted until junior high. He understand things I cannot begin to comprehend, and he has the ability to speak about those things on a level that astounds adults who share his intelligence, and he can translate most of those things into simple English that the rest of us can understand.

We take Alex's intelligence for granted; the boy is smart, he understands logic and rules, and even if he disagrees with those rules, for the most part he doesn't give us a hard time about them

So I am having a particularly difficult time understanding how someone whose intelligence has been described as "scary smart" can so something so utterly, profoundly stupid, and then believe that he could hide it from his parents for the rest of his teen years.

Alex, fourteen year old Alex, got a tattoo.

While I have serious issues with the artist who did this, I have bigger issues with my son. I know (and Alex knows) that he doesn't look fourteen; he can easily pass for seventeen, and if he hasn't shaved, he looks older.

Two weeks ago on Friday he was running late and didn't shave before school; I got a call from the office to bring him a razor, but it was already after lunch and I politely declined. One afternoon of stubble was not going to bring the school to its knees. Saturday morning he didn't bother shaving; he had plans to go shopping with a couple of friends, and his girlfriend thinks it's cute when he has stubble.

By Saturday afternoon, he obviously felt like he could pass for old enough.

Today, two weeks later, I walked into the bathroom after he had showered and found a container of Tattoo Goo on the counter. It did not register at first; after all, Char and I both have ink and have used it. It didn't occur to me for nearly an hour that that last time either of us needed tattoo ointment was last May.

My fury erupted with my realization; I'm not proud of it, but I totally lost my shit over this. I've never spanked any of the kids, I've never thought of hitting them; I don't grab, shove, push or pull them. But this afternoon I barged into my oldest son's room and pulled him off his bed by the front of his shirt and told him to take it off, or I would.

On the back of his left shoulder is a nearly healed red cross. If he were eighteen, I'd have absolutely no issues with this, but he's only fourteen. He knows better than this and he had to know how I would react.

His response to why?

You'd just say no.

No shit, Sherlock.

I have no idea what we'll do from here, other than making him cancel his date for tonight. Yes, I'll be having an up close and personal discussion with the person who did the tattoo, but there lies less blame there than with Alex.

Really, how in the hell did he think he could hide it for the next four years?

I owe Alex.

In a moment of massive not-paying-attention-to-the-actual-request, I promised Rachel I would take her and several friends to see New Moon after school today. They're 12; I don't just drop kids off at a theater, I suffer through whatever it is they want to see, but when I realized what I had agreed to, I was tempted. Very tempted.

Rachel squealed to Alex that she and her friends were going and he must have seen the look on my face, and told her that Stephanie wanted to see it it, so would she mind if they tagged along? Rachel was all for it; anything is better than squirmy Dad in a theater.

Before they all poured out of the car Alex set the ground rules: he and Stephanie would sit behind them, no talking after the previews were over, no squealing when the shirtless boys showed up on the screen, no going to the bathroom alone, and no talking back if he asked them to pipe down.

Good job.

He has a date tomorrow; they're going out for pizza and are meeting friends there. I think to show my appreciation, I'll pop for the first pizza. I'd pay for the whole thing, but I've seen Alex and his friends eat, and I could go broke.

(This is where I have to admit that moving has turned out to be a good thing all the way around; I actually get to go home until he calls for a ride, rather than finding a place in town to hang out.)

On the Kevin Front: he's not taking ballet anymore. Instead he's taking stage & production dancing, as his teacher thought he would enjoy it more, and it will incorporate some ballet. The kid really likes to dance and she sees a little performer emerging and wants to help him find what he'll both excel at and love. So far, I think she's on the mark. He's sticking with TKD, too, and will probably test for his black belt around his 11th birthday. Yes, I caved on the age issue. TK wants the minumum to be 10, and since this is now TK's school, 10 it is.

We make a point of trying to not run interference in our kids lives any more than is necessary; we’ve given them the tools to cope with bullies and people with whom they have disagreements and we’ve given them the foundation of socially acceptable behavior and manners. We’ve also given them a healthy respect for the adults in positions of authority over them. If they have doubts about those adults, they know to come to us.

We also understand that there are times when kids will not, for reasons that can only be understood by others who have not yet fully developed cognitive reasoning, go to one of their parents or to an adult they can (or should) trust. We understand the hierarchal system of the teenage caste, and the truth that he who rats out another will become a social pariah.

The dojang has been closed for the last week and a half while we move into the new school space. Without the three or four day a week reminder and ingrained fear, some of our students will devolve into old habits; those who were especially timid prior to beginning training will feel isolated and allow the shyness to creep back up on them, and those who had tendencies towards bullying will find themselves inexplicably picking on old targets.

Most of the time we hear about incidences after the fact; when we’ve been closed for repairs or for much needed time off, students come back whispering about each other, and we overhear. We use those off handed tales as structure for lessons to be taught and learned, and it doesn’t take long for them to snap out of the delusion that they are always completely right or completely wrong, and to get back to the business of learning to control themselves.

That is what this is mostly about, after all.

It should have come as no surprise that one student, who has not been training long, would fall back into old ways quicker than others, and that he would be thoughtless enough to carry that behavior off school grounds. Give a kid a driver’s license and a car, and you give him the world; you also give him the ability to drive over to someone’s house whereupon he can renew his harassment.

Damien is sixteen going on twelve; he’s now completely terrified of Alex but he is also hung up on Alex’s girlfriend and is still smarting over the fact that she would not even considering going out with him. In his stunted brain, if she could not see his overwhelming charm and personal worth, then there must be something wrong with her; if there is something wrong with her then it must be exploited and turned against her. If she is humiliated and cries, all the better.

This kid can’t seem to think beyond the impulse; he has followed her home from school and stood near her front door making masturbatory gestures, he has circulated rumors about what he wishes she had done with and to him as truth, he has lied to her friends about things she did not say about them, and he continued to taunt her with mooing sounds as she walked through the school hallways (but only when Alex wasn’t around.)

Over the last week he has made school for her a miserable and degrading experience; none of the kids involved would go to the principal, and Damien has been careful to instigate these personal attacks when he knows there will be no one to readily spring to her defense.

I don’t believe he has the guts to lay a hand on her; Damien is a bully who does not have the temerity to follow through; his bravado is linguistical and he’s too afraid of the pain of being hit to risk anything more. Still, he’s not smart enough to know when he’s pushed one time too many, and he may not be smart enough to realize he needs to take a step back. He may get physical without intent.

Alex has a considerable amount of self control; he has a healthy respect for the rules. He is also a teenager, and had no intention of sharing the details of what was tanspiring with his parents, or with anyone other adult who could help him. He intended to handle it himself, though how he expected to accomplish that was never quite clear. We only know about it now because Stephanie rode home from church with us this morning, and Damien was crusining up and down her street; when she saw him, she burst into tears. When Alex saw him, he wanted to get out of the car and beat the holy hell out of Damien.

No, I didn't let either of them out of the car; I wanted an explanation. When I finally got one, we turned around and took her home with us. This afternoon I found myself giving Alex permission to bring Damien to his knees if the situation requires defending Stephanie. If he lays one hand, one finger, on that girl anywhere near Alex, I will not fault him for acting on it.

To that end, too, Alex, Rachel, and I spent the afternoon in the old dojang with Stephanie; she needs to learn at least basic self defense. Teaching her where to hit and how, and what stereotypes in defense might best be avoided is the easy part. The difficulty lies in making sure she understands that she is worth defending, making sure she has given herself permission to fight back, and to hurt him if she has to.

Too many people, women especially, have never given themselves the permission to put themselves first, even in defensive situations. It’s one of the sad facts one learns in teaching women; typically women are not willing to do some of the more effective defensive techniques because deep down they don’t want to hurt anyone, not even the person attacking them.

But, that’s another issue and one I grapple with daily.

Stephanie’s father is on board with this. Until the dojang is reopened and I have Damien under my instructional thumb again, she’ll come home with us after school and wait there for her father to get off work. We’ll spend time working on self defense and keeping her and Alex a healthy distance from each other.

What I will not do, what her father cannot understand, is kick Damien out of the dojang. He’s immature, irresponsible, reckless, thoughtless, and a first class bastard, but he is redeemable.

One step out of line, though, and he’s at Alex’s mercy.

All right, I'm ready for Char to be 100% mobile and driving, because if I have to take another kid clothes shopping, I may go just a little bit insane.

The kids were warned that at some point we were going to go into their rooms and pack up a few things, but they apparently didn’t believe us. After Ian got home this morning we decided to tackle Alex’s room first and grab all the dirty clothes to wash before packing, then box up whatever he might need the first few days in the new house. While I poked through his closet, Ian got down on the floor and started pulling things out from under the bed. I expected a ton of trash but Alex has actually kept his room quite tidy, including a very neatly stacked pile of old Playboy magazines.

There was a momentary debate, leave them there, pack them away, or make them magically disappear, but Ian set them aside and once we'd gotten the clothes we thought Alex would need packed, he took the Playboys into our room and shoved them into a dresser drawer. When we picked the kids up from school Ian mentioned in an offhanded sort of way that we'd pulled all the stuff out from under their beds to get the dirty clothes; we didn't put anything back, so there were a few piles they needed to deal with before bed tonight. Alex was conspicuously quiet until we got to the dojang, and was equally quiet on the way home.

As soon as we got home all three kids raced to their room to survey the damage (it wasn't much, toys in Kevin's room and books and CDs in Rachel's) but Alex never came out to complain that anything was missing, not that we expected him to. He suffered through dinner, squirming every time Ian looked at him too long, and he cleared the table and helped with dishes without any prompting. After Kevin went to bed Ian pulled the magazines out of the drawer and took them into Alex's room; he was in there for a long time but says his message to Alex was mostly to keep those where Kevin wouldn't find them.

I know Alex isn't a little boy anymore but finding those did throw me for a little bit of a curve. I'd rather not think of him thinking of that; on the other hand, it opens the door for his dad to talk to him (and yes I leave most of that up to Ian, because somewhere inside I still giggle over words like 'wiener' and there's no possible way for me to discuss female anatomy with my son.) I can handle the idea that he's looking at pictures of naked women, but if we ever find condoms in his room, I might not be as understanding. I know I should be, but I don't know if I can.

Alex was in my office this afternoon, humoring me by letting me read over a paper he has to turn in tomorrow, when Rachel came in to tell him his “best friend” had just walked into the dojang. I’ve met Alex’s best friend; the kid has no interest or inclination in stepping foot into the dojang, and when Alex sighed hard, I looked to Rachel for an explanation.

Alex’s new best friend (we’ll call him Damien just because) referred to Alex’s girlfriend as a cow, following her down the hallway mooing, When Alex took exception and got in his face (verbally, no hitting took place) Damien informed him that he better back off because he was “taking karate” and was fucking good at it and if he didn’t back down he would snap Alex’s skinny little self in two.

What ensued, my daughter informed me, was a lot of macho spite talk (“yeah, you fucking wish,” “I can turn you into oatmeal you pasty piece of shit”) but Alex never told Damien that his pasty, skinny little self has been hanging around tae kwon do from birth and training from age six. The bell rang and they parted.

Sixteen year old Damien has been a student here for all of two or three weeks; while he’s been in class Alex has either been in my office doing homework or in the pool swimming laps with his mother. Their paths have not crossed. Today, however, was an opportunity for both boys to learn a lesson, so I told Alex to go change clothes and meet me on the floor.

Damien took note of Alex walking towards the locker room and laughed, telling one of the other students that obviously Alex was afraid and wanted to learn to defend himself. He was filled with cocky confidence, and as teenaged boy tend to do, began talking about how many fights he’s been in and won, and how the first time they got to spar he was going to teach Alex a lesson.

I didn’t say a thing to him but called the class to line up and told them that the younger Mr. Murphy was going to warm up the class, after which we would split into groups and work on front and reverse punches. Then Alex walked in, tugging on his belt to tighten it as he moved to the front of the class.

I have never seen a kid go from cocky to terrified as fast as Damien did. Alex didn’t acknowledge him but began the class as we always do and got them sweating and huffing; when I stepped back onto the floor I brought another advanced student with me and split the class into two groups, Damien in Alex’s group, then stepped back to watch.

I know Alex was irritated, but he swallowed it and never let it show. He corrected wrist position on all of his new students, showed them how to combine punches, and praised them when they got it right, including Damien.

With fifteen minutes left in class I allowed my inner asshole out and had all the students sit around the edge of the floor and had Alex and the other advanced student gear up and spar as a demonstration of how far they can all expect to go if they stick with it. I stressed controlled hits, wanting them to show speed, agility, precision, and creativity, and gave them 3 minutes to go at it as hard as they could without hitting hard.

Ideally, the lesson was about control. I expect control from my students; I expect for them to learn that they can practice hard without killing each other. I allowed questions, knowing that new students always want to know how they learn the control, and if they’re suppose to never hit that hard, how do they learn to do it? And how much does it hurt to get hit? If someone my size hits someone their size, can they even fight back?

I sparred with my son, medium to hard contact, take-downs allowed. I allowed Alex to get inside my guard a few times so that he could demonstrate that yes, it is possible for someone as thin and wiry as Alex to take down someone as tall as I am, someone much heavier.

This is not an unusual lesson; we often show new students what they can expect (though it’s usually TK and Char, and Char will wipe up the floor with him as proof that girls are just as good at this as boys), but I admit, the Jerk Dad (the guy thinking yes, you little shit, my kid can destroy you) part of me wanted Damien to get a clue. If he started something with Alex, he was not going to be able to finish it. It wouldn’t have to be a matter of Alex hitting or hurting him; Alex is fast enough and has the endurance to simply allow someone with Damien’s skills to throw punch after punch and evade until the fight is over due to a complete loss of energy. He can win a fight without ever throwing a punch (which I expect in school situations, and he knows this) and he won’t be the one gasping for air when it’s over.

Alex had more than one opportunity to get in Damien’s face and remind him about how good he said he was at “karate” but he didn’t take it; he treated Damien the same way he treats all the students he trains with and helps to teach. I’m 99% sure that at school tomorrow he won’t mention it to Damien. I would hope Damien would hedge his bet and go apologize to Alex’s girlfriend, but I doubt he’ll clue into the fact that his bigger issue is not laying claim to skills he doesn’t have but complete disrespect towards the girl.

It would be nice if he would clue in and apologize to her tomorrow, but I know better than to expect that much.

Kevin is now totally in love with his Aunt Nika. She took one look at him and said “Hon, you look just like your Momma!” Oddly enough, Kevin is the only one of the kids that really looks like her; he has her coloring and straight black hair, and he has the same eyes, but it matters to him that someone else can see that.

I think Alex is a little taken with her, too. I heard him tell Kevin it was too bad she’s their aunt, because “she’s hot.” Yeah, bud, she’s also sixteen years older, so it wasn’t happening even if she wasn’t related.

Char’s PT routine is not limited to work with her physical therapist and walking in the pool; she does a considerable amount of stretching at home, usually in the evening after the kids have gone to bed or are engrossed in homework or something on TV downstairs. The stretching is not comfortable by any means and is wrought with frustration and frequently tears because it still fucking hurts. It hurts enough that she says most of the time she’d rather give birth to a fifteen pound kid every night than go through it, but she sucks it up and does it anyway.

Some of the stretches require help, but for the most part the help is verbal; after a few minutes she wants to quit, and I have to sit on the floor with her and talk her through it, and sometimes I have to be the bad guy and get pushy about it. For fifteen minutes a day she hates me, but I can live with that.

Yesterday I took Rachel and a couple of her friends shopping, several hours of wandering the mall while they shrieked and giggled and pointed at boys they knew and boys they wanted to know. I followed a reasonable distance behind them, close enough to be right there but far enough back they were able to talk without me listening in and far enough that those boys wouldn’t necessarily guess they had a chaperone. I think Rachel’s friends had expected I would drop them off and pick them up later, but they’re twelve. I don’t care what their parents do, my daughter does not wander around the mall without adult supervision. I trust her; I don’t trust other people. When she hits fourteen, maybe then, but for now she’s stuck, even if she hates it.

Half an hour into their marathon shopping the friends realized having Rachel’s dad hanging back wasn’t such a bad thing, because he was willing to carry all the bags of crap they were accumulating. I didn’t mind, but by the time we got home I was exhausted; physically from carrying all their things for several hours, and mentally from all the gossip, giggling and shrieking.

I admit, I wasn’t in the mood to push Char into stretching beyond what she felt comfortable doing; I knew that a few minutes into it she would want to stop, and I also knew that I’d have to bite my tongue until it bled to keep from snapping at her. I think she knew I didn’t feel like sitting there cheering and jeering her on and she tried to opt out for the night, but not doing it isn’t an option, not now.

We both sucked it up, and we were both glaring at each other. Five minutes into it, right about the point of pain and resistance on her part, and right when I could already feel my temper notch up, we heard the boys in the hallway, and heard Alex say Don’t knock on that door, Kevin. Not right now.

I have to ask Mom something

Not now. If you need something I can get it or Rachel can get it.

I need to talk to Mom!

Char started to get up but I shook my head and peeled myself off the floor.

Later.

But why?

My hand was on the doorknob when I heard Alex saying, through gritted teeth, They’re. Probably. Naked.

Oh. He paused and then asked, Well, how long does that usually take?

I pulled to door open and Alex was standing there holding Kevin up, his hands under his little brother’s armpits, so that they were face level. Kevin looked at me, head to toe and determined I was shirtless but not pants less, and he looked back and Alex and said I guess it doesn’t take very long at all.

Alex shrugged, and he didn’t put Kevin down. My temper waned with the absurdity of Kevin’s size 5 feet dangling at least two feet off the floor, and I had to grit my teeth together to keep from laughing.

Char wasn’t as successful and was lying on the floor snickering, but managed to ask Kevin what he wanted.

I forget now.

Alex turned around, still dangling Kevin from his hands, and walked down the hall into his bedroom. Char was on her back on the floor, grinning, and willing to finish stretching. No complaints from either of us. When she was done I helped her up and she arched an eyebrow suggestively and asked Want to find out how long it takes?

Then Kevin remembered what he wanted.