In this dream, I can't seem to get the vice principal to see things my way. He wants to suspend my 12-year-old. This was five years ago, because my 12-year-old is a junior in high school now. Just so you know the setting, this child is the last of our three -- the other two have basically gone through college and moved on. Our last little guy is warming up in the bullpen for college, as I often say.
Anyway, I have to settle this dispute before I can backpack this lovely mountain glen in the Dinkey Creek area. My little guy is supposed to go with me, but I can't very well reward him for getting suspended from school.
And, he really did something that was quite creative, though totally unacceptable. For his own reasons, he decided to wait until an entire gym class was watching him and he showed them an unclothed view of his rear view. I have no idea what inspried him, but I had trouble keeping a straight face when he told me.
"I didn't do it very long," he offered.
So there I am talking to Vice Principal Wormer (OK, that's not really his name.)
"You shouldn't make him stay home for this," I said. "It's like a reward."
"Mr. Grossi, we can't have him stay in school," said Wormer. "Everyone who saw his foolish prank will consider it an invitation to do something more foolish."
"So, let's get this straight," said I, "he drops his drawers on Thursday. Takes off Friday to play some video games at home.Then brags the whole weekend about his three days off. Am I getting the math right? Hey, why not have him isolated and studying all day in the library? He would hate that."
"I'm sorry, Mr. Grossi," he said. "You'll have to keep him home tomorrow. We have a no tolerance policy."
To quote middle schoolers everywhere: whatever.
In my dream, as in real life, I never win the argument. And I put off the backpack. It's more of a punishment for me than him. But I do it, like a responsible dad.
Then, I take him on the backpacking trip a few weeks later. School was almost out for the summer anyway.
I teach him about nature. I show him how to handle a camp fire safely. We sleep at 9,000 feet at about 45 degrees that night,while the rest of Fresno sizzles.
When I wake up from that dream, which is just a replaying of reality, I remember what a valued time that was. I remember we had the long talk about expressing himself in other ways. And it worked. Now, when he's angry and he wants to say something to the world, he gets his garage band together, invents some kind of loud, incomprehensible statement and we get a visit from a cop.
What am I going to do when my last little guy leaves?
