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John put pencil to PSAT this fall. He blacked in bubbles concerning interests and majors. He scrawled address and now the owls come. They drop beakfuls of college literature into our mailbox. John outgrew watching for the owls a long while back. He was happy to leave that to Claire and Faith and Charlie. Most of our mail is his these days so again he watches. Charlie and Faith and Claire are not happy with his meddling.



John has a routine. Count the envelopes. Slit them open. Separate response cards from letters. Read the letters. Return letters to envelopes. Drop by websites of interest for a visit. Share gleanings from the daily dozen with me. "Mom, Bill Watterson went to Kenyon... Mom, I kind of like the University of Rochester. I can design my own major. There are no specified requirements." For a boy who thinks, lives outside the box, this has appeal. "Maybe I'll major in English or Mathematics. Maybe both."

We're in the midst of a shift in this life we dance. I pause on a toe, wait to see where he leads. Offer counsel, bite my tongue. I have a front row seat to new confidence, diligence, expanding horizons. From here the view is heart stopping. And it is fine.


A recent school day. Do all boys tackle every lesson in a clump??

Comments

Jennifer Jo said…
No. All boys do NOT tackle all lessons in a clump. That's one extra-special boy you have! Soak him up while you can!
What an exciting time!! Right?;-)
Rebekah Daphne said…
Oh my-- I remember those days-- not very long ago either. Sometimes, the sheer amount of mail made me feel like I was drowning. Every college sounds like the best place in the world. Eventually you get a more specific idea of what you'd like, though, and things get simpler!

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