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the boy

Saturday’s Adventures

Saturday 6 January 2024

On the way to the basketball game, the Boy makes a comment about how many churches are around, and then turns the discussion to religion, remarking that Jesus has been dead 2000 years and has still not returned.

“Two thousand years is a long time,” he suggests.

I simply agree.

He continues: “How do we even know that all that stuff happened?”

“What do you think?” again trying to remain non-committal.

“Well, they say they were there,” he suggests.

“How do we know that?”

“Because that’s what they wrote.” He stops to think about it for a moment and then asks, “But how do we know those documents are authentic?”

The short answer is, we don’t. The Gospels, despite the purported authorship the Bible affixes to them, are anonymous. Those names — Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John — appear only in documents from the third or fourth century if memory serves. But I say none of this. Instead, I simply respond, “That’s a very good question. What do you think?”

“Well, all the Christian scientists trying to prove that are biased. They want to prove it.”

For a moment, I think, “Wait, how did we get onto the topic of Christian Science, but I realize quickly what he means: he’s referring to apologists and Christian New Testament scholars who consistently make the arguments that support Christianity, explaining away the problems like the one of the gospels’ anonymous authorship. But his point is very salient: apologists are indeed biased. They are not seeking truth as much as seeking ways to buttress Christian belief, and many skeptics suggest that apologists are almost exclusively preaching to the choir, so to speak, giving believers answers to questions they might have rather than providing skeptics with evidence to overcome their skepticism.

These are all very good questions that will lead to some answers that might lead the Boy away from church teaching, but I am trying my best not to provide any answers.

We get to the game and immediately see what we’re up against: a bunch of guys eighth graders who are enormous and merciless. They tower over most of our boys.

Their brutality comes from the coach down: They begin applying full-court pressure in the second half when they already have a significant, and they would only begin doing that (I think) because their coach has instructed them to do so. Every time the opposition scores, the coach whoops and hollers like it’s the greatest comeback in history. The final score is 13-22, and I hear the say to his team, “That was okay, but you missed a lot of easy baskets.” Translation: “You beat them badly, but you should have beaten the —- out of them.” At least that’s how I interpreted it as an objective observer…

End of the Break

Wednesday 3 January 2024

The break is over: the kids go back tomorrow, with E starting his second semester in middle school and L beginning her last semester as a junior. Two facts that are hard to comprehend: the Boy is 11; the Girl just turned 17. One more hard-to-believe fact: the school year is half over now.

I went back to school today for a teacher’s workday. Walking down the halls this morning I had the realization that we only have a matter of months before the end-of-year testing kicks in, and few of my on-level kids are ready for it. Granted, they’ve made progress this first semester, but there’s still so much more to do. One of the frustrations I have with all this testing is that it’s heartlessly uniform in its expectations: growth doesn’t matter; improvement doesn’t register — everyone has to reach the same place at the same time. The kids who go from struggling to write a paragraph with more than three sentences to writing fully-formed Schaffer paragraphs that make a claim, provide evidence, and explain that evidence will still get a “Not Met” score at the end of the year even though they’ve grown more than the English Honors kids who will score “Exceeds Expectations.” The kids who had so many emotional issues that sitting in a class and focusing for more than a few moments who grow to the point that they can remain focused for ten minutes at a time and work collaboratively with their peers without getting off-topic for a full five minutes — they’ll still “fail” despite all the evidence I could provide to the contrary.

Hilton Head Day 2

Sunday 31 December 2023

We’ve had that model plane for — I don’t even know how long. Over a year. Maybe more.

“At some point, we’ll put it together,” I assured E, and myself.

And so as we were packing for this end-of-the-year trip, we had the idea that we could take the model and put it together here, in Hilton Head. Most of it, though, the Boy did himself. I wanted to be involved, but I also wanted him to have the experience of assembling it alone. I helped when he requested it.

This morning, he finished it.

In the afternoon, a stop at Piggly Wiggly — they still exist!

And in the evening, a walk on the beach,

some time in the hot tub,

and games in the condo.

Hilton Head Day 1

Saturday 30 December 2023

We started the day with a long sleep — not a single alarm clock set in the entire condominium. None. Not a FitBit set to gently jingle one awake; not a phone set to start chirping, screaming, or whatever alarms various family members use to drag themselves out of bed. Nothing.

First up, a walk on the beach just beside our complex. It’s technically not on the ocean but rather on the sound that separates Hilton Head from St. Helena Island and Parris Island just to the northeast of us.

The plan was to have an afternoon walk on Hilton Head’s main beach in the afternoon after exploring the downtown area, but K so fell in love with the marshy beach that she wanted to return after a short walk on the main tourist beach.

But we’ll get to that later.

One of the things Hilton Head is famous for is its wealth, and there’s no lack of that around us. The house just to the south of our complex is a 10,000 square foot beast that is valued, according to Zillow, at $4.5 million. Probably someone’s second home at that.

This kind of conspicuous wealth — I just don’t understand it. It screams lack of confidence in one’s own being. The only way I can feel great about myself is by showing off how much wealth I have. That’s how I’ve already seen it.

But that was neither here nor there as the Boy explored the shoreline (with the Girl still asleep in the condo), discovering at least a dozen horseshoe crab shells.

The place we’re renting is in a somewhat-dated but still lovely complex that, according to one resident we spoke with, is 50% owned and 50% rented. There are tennis courts (used, as far as we can tell, primarily for pickleball), an outdoor pool, an indoor pool, a jacuzzi, a sauna — a regular spa.

There’s even an odd, enclosed but unheated porch area. Not sure how comfortable that might be in the heat of the summer, but in the winter, all one needs is a blanket or jacket and it’s fine out there.

After our post-walk coffee and cake, we went downtown to do a little shopping. Not what I love doing, but I made it through the whole afternoon without even a peep of protest at the suggestion, “Let’s go into this store!”

The Girl was shopping for a birthday present for one of her friends; K was shopping for a dress for the Girl.

In the end, they both walked away happy, and I even got something: a bottle of Ghost Pepper and garlic hot sauce, locally made.

“Is it hot?” the Boy asked after I sampled a bit in the store.

“It’s definitely warm.”

After shopping, it was time for lunch: Babcia’s first time having sushi. The meal came with miso soup — another first — which Babcia liked but suggested: “it could use some potatoes.”

After lunch, we headed to the main beach. At first, K was in love with it: “The changing rooms, the showers — so charming!” But the beach itself — nothing much, she proclaimed.

So in the end, we just headed back to our little beach to see the sunset colors.

Ride

Thursday 28 December 2023

Game 2

Saturday 16 December 2023

The Boy’s team is now 0-2, a depressing start.

Today’s game was rough: it wasn’t that we were outplayed, but none of the boys could buy a basket.

Lights

Tuesday 28 November 2023

Chess and Reading

Monday 13 November 2023

I had a thought during chess club today: many of the kids who come for our meetings are, for lack of a better word, nerds. That’s how others see so many of them. Social misfits, uncoordinated socially and physically. I think it’s fairly safe to say that a lot of the kids who come to play chess don’t always feel like they fit in. During PE class, one or two might suffer mini- (or not-so-mini-) anxiety attacks at the thought of participating in a physical activity. During social time, one or two might feel completely lost when around the “cool” kids. When tensions flair in a hallway, one or two might cast a quick glance at the kid who bullies others, wondering if they’ll be the new victim. One or two. Or more.

And it occurred to me as we finished up, and I heard one boy as he was leaving saying, “I love chess club,” that this might be one of the few times some of these kids feel absolutely in the right place with the right people. It might be the one time they feel like they fit.

In the evening, the Boy and I sat in the basement reading. He’s put off an assignment for far too long, and tonight we started making headway to the Friday deadline.

The first hurdle: where did you stop?

“I don’t know. I can’t remember.”

“Don’t you have a bookmark?” How can anyone keep track of reading without a bookmark?

“No.”

“Which chapter was the last you remember reading?”

“I don’t know. I can’t read Roman numerals.”

I take a quick glance: chapters are numbered with a bunch of confusing letters, so I teach him how to read Roman numerals.

Finally, we get everything squared, and he begins reading. His goal: ten chapters. His accomplishment: ten chapters.

Another from Last Week’s Hike

Sunday 12 November 2023

E and I got to inspecting a termite-damaged log on our hike. K was fast enough to catch the moment.

Soccer

Saturday 11 November 2023

Today was the first day of the end-of-the-season tournament for E’s soccer team. He didn’t participate last year because his team didn’t participate: it’s an additional event, with additional fees.

We went into the first game hopeful: the boys had beaten them a couple of times in scrimmages, but this, I believe, was the first time they played an actual game. It was tied 2-2 when the referee made an awful call, calling a foul on our goalie when it was clearly a legal play. He’d dropped to the ground to reach out and stop the ball, and the attacker fell on him. How that was a foul I’ll never know. No one will ever know. But the ref awarded the other team a penalty kick, and that put them over: our boys lost 2-3. Technically, they didn’t. But technically doesn’t count.

The Boy was devastated. For the first time this year, he was on the verge of tears about the game. “We tied them!” he insisted, and I agreed. Still, what’s done is done: refs make awful calls all the time.

The boys’ second game went much better, with a stunning 6-1 win. They’d played that team twice before, beating them both times. So we go into tomorrow’s games 1-1. We’ll see how it goes.