Graduation Day is Almost Upon Us

My oldest son is graduating high school (hopefully) in 10 days.  There were more than a few moments of doubt that we would ever get to this place.  Yeah, my kid has got some issues and I have more than a few issues with school, with expectations, and with life in general.

So, it is as a parent of this type of child, and as a person who hated and did not fare all that well in school, any school, that I look at these commencement exercises as not a beautiful stepping stone, but something to be done with, preferably quickly.

First of all, the ceremony is on my birthday.  Name for me one person who wants to sit at a graduation ceremony on any day, much less their birthday. Seriously, please, tell me and I will call them up so that they can take my place.  My kid will never know.

Second of all, I received in the mail a laundry list of rules of etiquette that irritatingly took the jam out of my doughnut.  One of the bolded headlines is MARCHING INSTRUCTIONS.  Is this a class of Hitler Youth, or just, you know, regular kids?

A few tasty excerpts that really get my blood boiling are:

" you have paid for your cap and gown so you can "keep it" as a souvenir"  

Whoo, whoo, whoo!  Effing really?  How much did that cost?  WHAT THE HELL DO YOU DO WITH A GRADUATION GOWN AFTER GRADUATION?  And why is "keep it" in parentheses?  Is it because you won't "keep it"?  Your "parents" "will" in their "garage"?  

What a total waste.

" boys should wear a dress shirt and tie, dress slacks with dark socks and dark dress shoes.  Girls should wear a dress or a skirt and blouse "

a)  Great.  There goes another $150
b)  What century is this?  Why do girls have to wears skirts or dresses?  

Gross.

" A professional photographer will be taking a picture of each graduate as he/she receives the diploma. (this part is inexplicably underlined)  These pictures will be available for purchase on line on a secure website. "

Meaning:  Cha ching  

I will take my own shitty pictures, thanks.

Oh, and " the ceremony will be recorded and you will be able to order a copy."

Oh, goody.  Nothing better I can think of than fast forwarding through two hours of yawn-tastic ceremony to watch three seconds of my kid NOT looking at the camera.  And I get to pay for it?  Where do I sign?!?  

One last thing:  "you will receive your diploma only if all financial obligations with the school have been cleared, and if you exhibit appropriate behavior during the entire ceremony."

I would love for them to try and tell me that my kid did not behave, so therefore, he does not get a diploma.  Nice try.  We are finally out of here, I think the kid is entitled to flip off the principal, no?  I mean, NO.  I don't want my kid to flip off the principal, but seriously?  Way to try and scare us into being good little automatons one last time.

Maybe I am just an antisocial jerk.  Maybe I just don't get it.  I mean, I get (to a point) rules.  I get (to a point) ceremony.  I just don't get why my kid can't wear sneakers.  I don't get why there is not an open bar for parents (they would clean up!) to make the ceremony more enjoyable.  And I really don't get mortarboards.  

Anyway, Happy Graduation, everyone!  ***takes a shot***
 

Meanness

I updated my Facebook status this morning ( as I do most mornings ) and this is what I wrote:  

Hey Annoying Neighbor! The chances of you being discovered and given a recording contract while twanging on your front porch are about a zillion to one. The chances of me coming over there and smashing your guitar Pete Townshend style? Getting better every day.

It got a few likes and a few comments.  Another neighbor agreed that this guy was among the most irritating people on the planet.

I knew it was negative and nasty; but it was also funny.  Funny usually trumps negative and nasty for me.  Uh oh.  Now I sound like Bill Maher.  Not a road I really want to go down.  We'll save that post for another day.

So, I began to think about why this guy bugged me so much and what it meant for me as a wannabe good and kind and peaceful person to write this about him.  

Sure, it's a joke (sort of) and he won't ever see it (maybe), but does that make it okay?

You know that saying "if you have to ask you already know the answer"?  Yeah.  Well, I do.  Making fun of this guy makes me no better than him.

Sure, he drives me nuts.  When he's not twanging out of tune on his front porch, he's yelling (yelling is his communication style of choice) at his kids or weed whacking.  These seem to be his only hobbies; except in winter when it is yelling and snow blowing.

I am aggravated that my dear husband (who is so much nicer and more tolerant than me) cannot even be in the front yard when this guy is out there, or he will get caught up listening to him for an hour or more.  There is no give and take with this guy; just "here is a laundry list of my problems and some anecdotes that I will blather on and on about until you literally turn your back and walk away from me".  Sometimes, even walking away is not good enough to deter him.  He is the human version of a remora.  Or the animal version of a burr.  He is very hard to shake off.

There is also the fact that he is milking the system for an injury sustained on the job, when he is clearly not injured anymore.  

And then, he complains about the "system".  And I just go ballistic.

So, what does it mean if I can't be nice to this guy?  Am I a bully?  I kind of feel like one.  The more I think about it, the more I see that he is just a little bit off center; not quite in the range of what one would think of as "typical".  Maybe he's got a diagnosis, but probably not.  I'll bet he did poorly in school, though.  I'll also bet that the silly, attention seeking stunts he pulls (like yelling so we can all hear him and playing tuneless ballads to the neighborhood) are holdouts from his childhood.  Maybe he was the kid that tagged along but never fit in.  Maybe he wasn't invited to play.  

Then, I feel sad for him because I know that feeling.  And though I certainly don't think my kids are (by a long, longshot) annoying, they do have some trouble socializing and making and keeping friends.

I'm not sure that I could ever be friends with this guy, but I need to look at myself when I plead with the world for tolerance and acceptance for my children and anyone who doesn't fit the neurotypical mold.

Maybe I need to give this guy a break before I expect one for my kid.

Maybe I'll be a better person if I take a moment to put myself in his shoes.

And maybe I won't post anymore mean status updates.

Narcissism

I lived in L.A. when I was a young twenty - something.  I spent a lot of time in clubs around B-List actors (see above photo) and lots of wannabes.  I didn't really fit in, though I was young and cute; everyone around me looked younger and cuter.  When you take a solid New Jersey 7 and put her in L.A., she becomes an automatic 4 1/2.  It's just Los Angeles Hotness Math. 

My serious north Jersey accent didn't really help matters.  Though practically everyone out there is transplanted from somewhere else and I met many NJ brothers and sisters, it seemed that most of them lost their back east accents within moments of touching down on Culver City's dusty brown streets.  When I did find someone else who said orange the way GOD!  INTENDED! (Arr-enge), I clung to them like crazy glue and we became lifelong friends (or they blocked me on Facebook years later; whatever).  I love being in a foreign land, but there is nothing like hearing your mother tongue unexpectedly in a crowd of strangers. 

I really didn't have the attitude for the City of Angels, either.  Sure, I had the blondish hair, but that was it.  I had (still have) no fashion sense of any kind other than asking myself " Will I get fired for wearing this?"  and then hoping for the best. 

(the famous sailor suit)

In a particularly cringeworthy moment, I had a potential boss berate me for not wearing pantyhose to an interview.  If I had had some stunning, well cut suit to go with my buffed, tanned and shiny legs, I might have gotten away with it; but, it was winter, I was pale and pasty and wearing a green and white sailor suit.  I repeat:  SAILOR SUIT.  And white Easter shoes;  literal Easter shoes, that I had not worn since 1987.  I realized that I was not in Bergen County anymore and promptly drove to the nearest ROSS store and bought myself a real (if not completely hip) suit which I then had tailored ( a step in the right direction, no?  No.) to be inappropriately short.  At least I wore stockings with it when I finally did land a job.  :)  Remember "Working Girl"?  I was Melanie Griffith before she raided Sigourney Weaver's closet.  Now that I think about it, I probably should have paid more attention the first time I saw that movie and the sailor suit incident may never have happened.  Live and learn.

In more recent memory, a very good friend of mine began singing "Borderline" every time she saw me after catching me at work wearing a cut off the shoulder tee shirt a la Madonna.  It was 2007.  I obviously had no clue that it had been a full thirty years since that had been acceptable.  She still reminds me of this horror anytime I get a bit too full of myself.  Good friends will keep you from being too much of an asshole and hopefully, from ever wearing dayglo pink and black rubber bracelets outside of Halloween.

Oh wait.  Black rubber bracelets are in again?  Damnit!