I ask him to go brush his teeth. Ok, he says, cheerful. He goes upstairs, goes to the bathroom, goes to his room and picks up a book. Please brush your teeth and wash your face. OK, still cheerful. Enters the bathroom, puts the dry toothbrush in his mouth for a few seconds and walks out. You need to use toothpaste and water. Ok. Uses toothpaste and water and brushes his teeth, but pretty much only on the right side of his mouth. Face too, please. Ok. He dabs at his mouth with a dry washcloth. You need to put water on the washcloth, hot water. Slightly dampens the washcloth with cold water, holds it parallel to his face and rubs the edge on his lips.
I feel like crying. Should l let his teeth rot? Post a list on the bathroom wall so he can check off when it�s done? He says don�t put a sign on the wall--people will see it and think I�m not normal.
You don�t have to be like everyone else I say. You aren�t average. Your reading and thinking and understanding are really strong, but you have trouble organizing yourself and remembering what you need to do. I want to be like everyone else. You think I�m not normal, he says, accusingly. No, I say, you can be normal and not average. Everyone has strong points and weak points. I want to trade my strong points for something that is more popular, like sports. I think you need to find some friends who like the same things as you. Opposites are good, he says, that�s why black and white go so well together. Well, that�s true, I say, but I think it would be good if you could find a friend who liked books, and writing plays and making movies. I think you might find more friends like that at the private high school we visited. That�s why I think it would be good for you to go there. He says, I don�t want to go there. The man on the tour said that there was more homework than at other schools. I don�t care if it�s more interesting. I want to go to the regular school. But I still want to write the test for the private school because if I�m accepted, Daddy said I could have a dog.
I am so frustrated. He can do better, but he doesn�t want to make an effort. Or maybe he can�t make the effort? Always lays his head on his left arm when he is writing. He says he likes to write that way. His handwriting seems worse every year.
I want to go back to the Montessori school next year for grade 6 he says. Why? Because I want to. I think you are doing better at the new school, I say. You are hardly ever in trouble and you are working harder and your report card was pretty good. Is there something you don�t like at the new school? Yes ,but I won�t tell you. Why? Because I don�t want to. You should never tell mothers anything he says. They react too much. I promise not to say anything. I won�t even look at you. Will you give me a thousand dollars if I tell you? No. It�s good to tell someone. Even if you can�t tell me, you could talk to someone else. No, he says, I just tell myself. I say that won�t help, it will just go round in your head and you won�t feel any better. He says, whatever you ask me I will say no. Ok, I won�t ask. But if someone is hurting you, or doing something illegal or really bad, you have to tell me. No, nothing like that, he says. I say, you can�t go back to the Montessori school. You weren�t happy there, you were always in trouble and you hardly did any work. I want to go back anyway, he says. If you don�t let me go back, I�m going to refuse to go to school at all.
Another day, I drive around for 20 minutes looking for a parking spot. We discuss how busy it is, how long it is taking, how I feel like will never find a spot. Finally I find one, yay, I say, we can stop driving in circles. I park, we get out of the car, walk together to the store. I say, walk over here on the path, not in the traffic. OK, he says. We go into the store. He looks up and says, oh, did you find a parking spot? I say, you didn�t notice that we parked, got out of the car and walked over to the store? No, he laughs.
