e is away....: Cosines of a Vector

(this is an old summary from the parents' weekend in October; somehow it didn't get on...Sellman/Wehlen Cuba bonanza this week. The highlights will include, apparently, a stay at a local's house ...(!))

Had a whale of a time at the Academy; met some of Frederick's friends, and met with his advisor who reported all was okey dokey on the eastern front. We went to four out of five of his classes: History (20th century); English (The Taming of the Shrew); math (vector algebra) and Physics (basic mechanics).

The place looked like a children's drawing: bright blue skies; orange trees: white church steeples; red white and blue flags. That is until the rains came...

New Hampshire giveth, and then it rains on you.

F has a history teacher they call Schwartzie who is the hardest grader he has encountered yet. She has been known to write things on the children's papers like: "this writing is childish";

"Impossible premise; you didn't read the book." Or my favorite to a friend's kid: "you are remarkably unremarkable"

F was handed his worst grade on a paper ever- and yet he told Andrew this was his surprise favorite class.

My new obsession is WPEA the Exeter radio station... Kid run and I believe the only one of its kind. This gray haired feminist NPR obsessed taxi driver turned me onto it. She couldn't believe we weren't listening. Basically the kids can play any song or speak about what they want- but unlike most DJs who are frankly what's the word? Idiots... These are not.

One kid was playing songs in pairs and then explaining the pattern. So she plays a haunting, teen-aged angst filled tune, (Medicine by The 1975), followed by an 80s upbeat one called "Jessie's girl". And I'm glued- how is she going to connect the two?

And in this adorable voice carefully makes her Harkness trained argument.

F had to explain a point in Math for a very cute girl in cowboy boots... (See below.) I was worried, but he is an old hat at this now, and does not seem distracted by cowboy boots. The teacher was the single most enthusiastic teacher I have ever met. I wish I could have gotten a better picture.

She looked like a teenage Munster - very pale in a black dress, with long black hair; and so young I didn't realize she was the teacher. But unlike a Munster, she was soooooo joyful. Frederick said she claps her hands with glee over their homework sometimes.

I went to an early morning presentation on "communicating with your teenager". I happened to be in the back chatting with my friend, and new fav who went there in the 80s. He and his wife went to a party (that we nerdily declined), the night before and they got rained in. That's right...it was too stormy to get to their hotel. Long story short, his wife was so hungover and under slept, she shoved her husband out the door to attend. I mean really, one parent seemed enough.

God I love her. Not many parents at Exeter blow off a seminar due to dancing. As I told him: you do realize most parents are not here for the dancing?"
Anyway I needed the de brief, so I was only listening with one ear. But with that ear, I heard the kiddies seem to be stressed.
They read to us anonymous notes from the kids to their parents (!) Here were some of them: "I'm not going to be going to Harvard (Georgetown, Stanford, fill in the blank) You need to know that."
"it's your dream to be a doctor, not mine"
"Don't worry if i don't call you back right away...I am really really busy. But I love you."

I have a friend who talked to a guy with seven children (four with the first wife, and three with the second). My friend asked him if he had any advice...seeing as how he had done this seven times. The guy actually said: Well yes I do- your children are not your art project to make into the shape you desire. They are their own work of art; separate from you.

I do admit, I wish I could just tell F what to do. I would love to dress him in what I want, change his sheets more than twice a month, and shove five servings of fruits and veggies and a vitamin D pill in his mouth every day. But I can't; he lives 2, 842 miles from my outstretched arms.

So maybe, staying up all night at parents' weekend is the answer- leave the little mounds of clay alone and concentrate on your dancing.
Let's just hope she made the advisor meeting...