Coming To A Standstill

“Outstanding,” is the word I often use in describing our son, John.  At age 15, John is an honor student.  He’s a trombone player, and just recently played his first solo in a concert.  He’s a swimmer and a soccer player.  He’s an avid reader, and loves to write stories.  He draws cartoon strips when he’s bored.  He’s teaching himself to draw Native Alaskan formline design.  He’d like to learn how to carve.  And he will one day.  He’s honest, he tries hard, he’s responsible, and he has a good sense of humor.  He apologizes when he messes up.  He’s a good big brother, and a favored little brother.

And sometimes he says things that bring me to a complete and utter standstill.

In 4^thgrade John struggled to learn some of his multiplication facts.  I repeatedly offered my assistance, assuring him that I was actually pretty good at math.  But he wasn’t interested in my help.

“No, that’s okay.  I can do it,” he’d answer.  Then he’d add something patronizing like, “Our teacher says we have to do it a certain way.”

Silently I’d roll my eyes before going back to whatever I had been doing.

One particular evening he had made a lot of mistakes on his 9’s multiplication facts sheet and I just couldn’t take it anymore.  I grabbed a piece of scratch paper and sat down next to him.  I wrote out the a list of 9’s multiplication facts starting with  9 X 0 =, and then 9 X 1 =, all the way to 9 X 10 =.  Then I filled in the answers, showing him how the ones column decreases by 1 with each multiple, and the tens column increases by 1 with each multiple.

When I finished, he sat staring in disbelief.  Then he turned to look at me, wide-eyed and with just a touch of surprise, and said, “Wow, Mom, that’s actually pretty cool.”

I agreed.  Then I gave him a little pep talk about how once he learns his multiplication facts he’ll never have to re-learn them.  They’ll always be the same.

But as I stood up from the table something was nagging at me.   I couldn’t quite put my finger on it.  But there was something in his tone of astonishment that really annoyed me.

Did he really not think that I might just know something he didn’t know?  That there might be something he could learn from me?

Ultimately, I decided to shake it off.  Until last week.

I walked into the house after work the other day and found John sitting in the living room playing on his phone.  I knew he had a project for school that needed to get done.

“John, get off your phone,” I said, hanging up my jacket.

“Oh, I’m just reading something,” he said, not looking up from his phone.

“Um hmm,” I mumbled, putting my keys on the peg by the door.  “Anyway, get off your phone now and get your homework done.”

“Yes, I will,” he said, still not looking up from his phone.  “Pennies on My Path just posted another story, and I was just reading it.”

I stopped in my tracks and turned to look at him.   After a second he added, still without  looking up, “Some of their stories are actually pretty good.”

He was focused on what he was reading and didn’t seem to notice me standing there dumbstruck.  My mind was going 100 miles an hour over now somewhat-familiar territory.

Does he not know I wrote that story?  That all those stories are mine?

After a few minutes he finished what he was reading and gathered his homework to go work on it at the table.  And I headed into the kitchen to start making dinner.

John really is a great kid.  He’s intelligent, he’s kind, he works hard, he’s honest.  He has a good sense of humor.  He really is an outstanding young man.

And yet there are times when he says things that bring me to a complete and utter standstill.

Postscript:  John, if you’re reading this and thinking that there’s a certain familiarity to it, it’s because I WROTE IT!  And by the way,  I pretty well rock my multiplication tables, too!  Love, Mom