From the time Shane entered our lives, it has been one surprise after another. From him being male/a boy – the sonogram person was so happy to show us at our appointment, the same appointment I think for an amniocentesis to make sure the fetus was developing properly. Reggie and I were a wee bit stunned, but okay with this news. Then the baby-man was born in a dramatic fashion for us, a c-section after a maternal seizure during labor. The NICU doctors were surprised that Shane was no worse for experience, he passed his Apgar tests w/ flying colors. Then there was jaundice, and the torticollis and resulting physical therapy. Eventually he would need glasses before starting kindergarten. Always a quiet and thoughtful child – how could he not be with two older sisters and “old” parents?- the baby-man early on showed that he was agile, nimble, flexible. So we put him in gymnastics classes, ice skating and swimming. We were awed by his speed in running and signed him up for a track program. Shane was also always a good student, dutifully completing assignments with a natural interest in astronomy, film making and photography. Never quite fitting in with the majority of other boys who often seemed consumed with proving they were stronger or faster, or feigning a lack of care for school or kindness. Close friendships alluded him but other kids liked him well enough to leave him alone. Which Reggie and I marveled at because boys like our son got beat up with amazing regularity where we both grew up.
We suspected that he couldn’t become a gymnast due to his eventual height which we each assumed would be maybe six feet. We’re both quite surprised by him reaching 6 feet 2 plus inches. We’re even more surprised by his innate talent for ballet. From some solid encouragement from his assistant principal to his first complimentary class to the quick progression through classes and opportunities, Reggie and I have been awed by the whole situation. His talent and performances, the teachers who have nurtured and encouraged him, the summer opportunities, and the feedback from people far more knowledgable than us, I cannot convey how surreal the last five years have been. We were imagining maybe sports as part of his college pathway and now we have added learning about ballet apprenticeships to our parental homework.
Dropping your child off for summer dance intensives doesn’t quite prepare you for letting him grow and sending him off to study ballet during the academic year while also going to public school 400 miles from where you live. He’s still so young, it feels weird him being so far away. How do you impart the daily lessons that you would if he were still upstairs in his room?
You don’t. Instead now you parent through daily texts and a haphazard schedule of phone calls, working extra hard to keep the calls light-hearted so that he might want keep talking in the future. You entrust others with making sure he gets some semblance of a high school education (he was signed up for three college-level courses and chemistry at our local school this year); now he’s got two in-person classes (a foreign language and forensics) and a self-guided humanities course that hasn’t started yet. This is hard for my Shaker Heights High School parent brain to comprehend. But he takes five hours of dance/dance-related classes many days and is living in a city that is one of the world’s best classrooms. When we spoke to him yesterday, he sounded sophisticated and gracious. His soft-skill set is developing nicely.
Ballet lends itself to kids from “wealthy” and/or educated households. At a minimum, the student and the parent/s must both be coachable. This is not an inexpensive endeavor and the ways of its inner-workings can be opaque to those of us who unfamiliar with this art form. I remember my early ignorance of dance belts, quite confidently telling the Capezio salesperson that Shane didn’t need one. The learning curve has and continues to be steep. There are many scholarships to ensure that poor but talented children get their chance, but access does not equal ease.
We remind him to be humble. To offer others grace. To remember he has benefitted from a very good to excellent public school education as he encounters other students who have gone to public schools that didn’t offer all that Shaker’s schools do. Or students who don’t have the benefit of parents and families like his. We inquire about his bank balance, meals eaten, and suite mates whose names we struggle to keep straight. We listen intently for any signs of trouble, but hesitantly admit that he seems to be handling the transition pretty well.
Reggie acknowledges my discomfort with Shane being out of the house. The uneasy knowledge that 16 will never really live with us again and what that means to our/my ability to successfully parent him. To say I miss Shane fails to capture the hole at the center of my life now. I don’t want to seem ungrateful. I’ve tried to paper over that hole with a change of work assignment and the attendant challenges. But there is no way to not miss his laughter or hugs or annoying proclivity to not turn his school work in on time. I know Shane needs to be where he is so that he can be and become the person he is meant to be. Or at least have the best opportunity to do so. I know he doesn’t belong to me. That this assumed separation (of course he was going to college) has only happened two years sooner than I expected. That life comes without instructions but with opportunities to love even when it hurts. So I will parent the baby-man from afar and count my blessings that I get to do so.
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