Ian is coming home for Fall Break!  Have not seen him since late August.  And he barely calls home from art school – a good sign, right? 

In this photo, he’s with Freddy, his steadfast friend since toddler days.  Now they’re both freshmen in college….so this shot of them at the bar in Freddy’s family house in the mountains seemed like an appropriate choice.  Ah, it’s a long way from Thomas the Tank Engine, their first shared obsession.

Here’s to a great weekend.  Cheers!

Now that our firstborn’s Gap Year is drawing to a close, the jury is in.

It was a great decision.

Instead of going straight to college, Ian accepted an offer from Maryland Institute College of Art  (MICA) last May, then deferred for a year.  As many MOB readers will recall, he spent the summer lifeguarding before going off to Europe in the fall for a few months of travel.  Considering this was a kid who had never even gone to summer camp, he did amazingly well on his own. 

Ian rejoined us just before Christmas, and has spent the last few months working on paintings in his basement studio, lifeguarding at indoor pools, visiting friends in college and at prep schools, perfecting his baking (“I figure I should have a skill to fall back on if the art thing doesn’t work out”), chauffering his younger brothers around, going to museums and galleries, and helping us in the house and garden.

This spring, Chris and I did not have to touch the mulch pile when the dump truck delivered it – our personal hired man took care of it while we were busy doing other stuff.   He took out the storm windows and put in the screens.  He empties the dishwasher every day.  Unfortunately, he has backslid on making his bed every morning, which he used to do while in school.   He goes to the gym with us, or bums a ride into the city when we’re heading in. 

It’s been such a pleasure to hang out with this kid, without the usual parental overlays of “Did you study for that test?” and “Are you all caught up in that class?”   Apart from monitoring his scholarship applications (he had to re-apply), there’s been blessedly little hectoring on our part.

Ian has been reading classics that he’s never had the time to enjoy, from the Great Gatsby to The Mysterious Island, from The Importance of Being Ernest to Lives of the Artists.  He’s recently been poring over an anatomy book that I found for a dollar at a library sale.  Although it’s from the late 1800s, the human body has not changed much since it was first published and he’s finding it fascinating.

From obscurities like A Knife in the Water to popular recent releases like The Illusionist, Ian’s also been watching a ton of movies.  He tracks the Netflix queue, and rents whatever strikes his fancy at the library. 

There’s plenty of junk TV too, and month upon month of sleeping until noon.  But the beauty of it is, we don’t get worked up about this, or go into nag mode.  Ian is basically on Student Sabattical.  

With no deadlines or assignments or anywhere to be – until lifeguarding duty begins in the late afternoon – he’s not operating under the normal rules governing daily life.  He will be, for the rest of his life, so we’re fine with letting him sleep or zone out in front of Cash Cab.

The advantages of the Gap Year far outweigh any downsides, in our experience.  More than a few of Ian’s contemporaries went off to freshman year of college, on cue, and had a negative experience.  Either they dropped out or they transferred or they’re deeply unhappy. 

While the Gap Year is no innoculation against those outcomes, we can’t help but feel that the extra 365 days of maturing and pondering and yes, boredom, will have the positive effect of making Ian that much more college-ready.

In the meantime, there are documents to sign, seal, and mail off to MICA today.

He’s home!  

Last night, there was our prodigal son, walking down the airport corridor with a newly grown beard and a big smile.  Heading swiftly towards him was our middle son, bestowing on Ian a manhug.  And racing at top speed with a huge grin on his face was our lastborn, heading into a full bear hug with his big brother.

After all the “Hey man, great to see you” comments, Ian’s next words to Malcolm were:  “Hey, that’s my shirt.”

Yes, life has returned to normal around here. 

At home, we watched Ian unpack his treasures (a pint glass from the Guiness brewery, a scarf knit by his Swedish friend Heddy, a mint-in-box plastic food chopper left by a huckster at a hostel in Dublin, a handful of Scottish newspapers), heard some of his stories, saw just a few of his hundreds of photos.

After a somewhat frantic search for Ian’s beloved Macbook, it was found safely buried in a laundry basket in the corner of his room.  Malcolm was turfed out of Ian’s room to the guest room, and Hugh gets to keep the bunk bed room to himself.  When Uncle Jim visits at Christmas,  perhaps he can take the top bunk.

I was relieved to learn that Ian did not get, as threatened, a tattoo saying Philadelphia.  Or any tattoo.  Despite some early bumps in his adventures, he did not feel his trip was too long – if anything, he felt it was too short.  He mastered the art of reading bus and train schedules in foreign cities, booking accommodations and Ryanair tickets, shopping for hostels, and protecting his stuff from pickpockets.  Basic survival skills that are best learned from being out on one’s own.

He’s scheming about finding a job now, to make money for college – and to go to Norway next summer.  A vegetarian since toddlerhood, he learned to eat some new foods while away – “That’s great!  Like what?” – and the answer was “Soup.” 

But getting back to the wonderful scene at the airport, I have to share my friend Penelope’s comment from a few posts back, asking what movies make you cry.  It’s very apropos to today’s post.   Here is her answer:

The last scene, with real people arriving and being greeted by loved ones at Heathrow airport in Love Actually gets me every time!   (what follows is the voiceover from the scene):

“Whenever I get gloomy with the state of the world, I think about the arrivals gate at Heathrow Airport. General opinion’s starting to make out that we live in a world of hatred and greed, but I don’t see that. It seems to me that love is everywhere. Often, it’s not particularly dignified or newsworthy, but it’s always there – fathers and sons, mothers and daughters, husbands and wives, boyfriends, girlfriends, old friends. When the planes hit the Twin Towers, as far as I know, none of the phone calls from the people on board were messages of hate or revenge – they were all messages of love. If you look for it, I’ve got a sneaking suspicion… love actually is all around.”

Ian is now nearing the end of his travels in Europe.  I’m thinking of this as his S and Vowel tour:

Spain-Sweden-Scotland-Estonia-England-Ireland.  Not the actual order of travel.  I switched Scotland and Estonia to make the gimmick work better.

For the next week or so, he will be with our friends Todd and Suzanne and their family outside of London, in Surrey.  If you have suggestions for off-the-beaten-track things he should see and do in London and environs, do tell.  (Thank you Beth, you’ve already done this.)  He’s not an extravagant spender – it’s those Scottish roots – but obviously, he’s enjoying free lodgings in a world class city, so he’s way ahead of the game.

We are grateful to Facebook for providing another way of tracking our teen, as we play our very own edition of “Where in the World is Matt Laurer?”  Ian usually calls every Saturday, and it’s always a joy to pick up the phone and hear a deep voice saying “Hi, Mom.”

When he flies in from Dublin in early December, we will finally get to hear his travel stories, complete with details and digressions – all the embroidery that completes the texture of a tale.

For now, here are some of the snippets that we know:

*On the flight from Barcelona to Stockholm, someone died.  Flight attendants asked if any doctors or nurses were aboard.  The plane made an emergency landing in France.  Police came onboard to make inquiries.  Ian’s seatmate was a Penn State student, a PR major, who kept up a running commentary about how Ryanair handled the situation.   Our friend Rob met Ian at the airport in Sweden, and emailed us grim jokes about the situation.  “Ryanair never flies with an empty seat, the stopover in France was probably to replace the dead guy.”  And “Hey, that was one passenger who didn’t complain about the lack of legroom – until rigor mortis set in!”  Apparently this was the only Ryanair flight that did not land on time, in all of 2009. 

*Rob and Anki and their daughters took Ian to a judo competition in Sweden.  Not what you think of as typical Scandinavian fare, but he loved it.   Anki was concerned that Ian was looking too skinny and I’m sure she worked to fatten him up.  It was wonderful for him to be with a family that he has known forever, in a real house with old friends in a beautiful new place.  Chris and I felt completely relaxed the whole time Ian was in Sweden, knowing he was in the best of hands with Rob, Anki, Heddy and Octavia.  Much the way we feel now with Ian under the roof of Todd, Suzanne, John, William, Leslie and Catherine.  (People often ask how we know these benevolent host families.  The dads are Chris’s friends from UVA.  Thank heavens for life-long college pals!  Who conveniently live abroad!)

*Although sad to leave Sweden (direct quote from his FB status update), Ian ended up having a great few days on his own in Scotland.  He hung out with Aussie gap year guys at the hostel who were  impressed when he chatted up Spanish beauties at the pub. 

*He got to visit a hometown friend, Sophie, at her college - University of St. Andrews.  I occasionally run into her father at our local post office, as he dutifully sends giant care packages to his daughter in Scotland.  This is the first other 18 year old Ian has visited at college, and I don’t think any other campus will ever quite compare to this magical Hogwarts-esque school on the sea, founded in 1413.

*Our son is almost qualified to write a guide to the thrift shops of Europe.  I must remember to tell him to go into Oxfam Shop he sees.  Also any Spastic Shop.  These really existed back in the 1980s.  Perhaps the name has changed by now, but these were thrift stores that benefited the Spastic Society.   My dad will attest that I could not stop laughing when I first saw the shop.  (Remember that picture you took of me posing under the sign, Daddy?)  Those Brits, they don’t   beat around the bush.  Here’s our kid at a resale shop in Barcelona, with the Jamaican owner who talked to him about Obama.

*The photo at the top of this post is also from Spain.  We don’t know who the girl is, but she’s very cute, and the room looks nice and sunny, and Ian looks healthy.   For a kid who has never traveled alone before – not even to sleep-away camp – he’s learned a lot, figured things out on his own, and gained many useful skills for later life.  And he’s already talking about a trip he wants to take next summer.  To Norway.

When a friend sent us this photo he snapped of Ian graduating on Friday, I was so grateful.  Let’s just say I had a view of the back of his mortarboard.  I’ll spare you the details of the chaotic hell-ride-in-the-rain to graduation that caused us not to be able to sit with my dad in the four posh seats he scrupulously saved for us, and which remained empty for the entire ceremony as we were allowed only into the bleachers after 6 PM. 

The important thing is that three generations were there to see Ian receive his sheepskin. 

His two remaining grandparents, one from each side of the family.  His two parents, two brothers, two uncles, and one aunt. 

The following things struck me about graduation:

Kids these days don’t have that us versus them feeling my peers and I had about adults in our lives.  Lots of the grads hugged the principal and the faculty advisors as they crossed the stage.  Which is impressive.  (Also perhaps symptomatic of a hugging pandemic in schools – that’s another story).

Elgar’s composition is still beautiful, even though we’ve all heard it countless times.  Someday I’d love to hear it played outside in the summertime in London.

Hugh was a genius to bring the high school newspaper that listed the post-graduate destination of every senior, in alphabetical order, so we could follow along.

I was a fool to iron that graduation robe, as Ian dutifully reported we were to do.  Who was going to sit there and hiss to a neighbor, “Oh my God, Ian’s mom obviously didn’t get all the creases out of that billowing polyester!”

Kids today are lucky to go to schools that are full of attentive, creative, nurturing teachers.  Ian’s high school mentors ranged from an art teacher who recognized his talent to an English/physics teacher who called all his students “scholars.”  (He would literally call on them as “Scholar Last Name,” without fail, and Ian thrived in his classes).  During senior year, Ian had several legendary teachers who challenged him in English, in Spanish, and in a cross-disciplinary seminar. 

It is truly hard to believe it’s over, but he’s got the diploma to prove it.

In our world, “gap” is now linked with the word “year,” and it means Ian is taking time off between high school graduation and freshman year of college.

We’re completely on board with this concept.  What a great idea, to take a bit of time before leaping from the frying pan into the fire.  To have some adventures, grow up a bit, and recover from school fatigue.  When in life do you have more time, more energy, and more opportunity to take this kind of break?  Gap/bridge years, long a popular concept in Europe, are now a hot trend in America as well.

Ian has deferred admission to the Maryland Institute College of Art, where he’ll join the freshman class in the fall of 2010.

Everyone asks:  “So what’s he doing with his gap year?”  That’s a great question.  Answers are still being worked out.  Fall:  study art in Europe.  He’s pretty fluent in Spanish, so Spain would be a great choice.  Maybe Italy, full of bikes and pizza.  We hope he’ll be back here for Thanksgiving, or at least Christmas.  Spring:  paying job or internship, and  some volunteer work.

More immediate deadlines loom.  Getting tux and transport ready for the prom.  Procuring chips, cake and candy bars for a grad party (the menu Ian actually proposed last night.)  Arranging for a new passport, since the one from 1996 shows our firstborn with fat cheeks, a train sweater, and a bowl cut.

Whatever the near-term future holds, it’s safe to say adventure and travel will play important roles. 

PS  Wednesday Spaghetti hosted by Emily and Dave went off without a hitch.  Excellent sauce too.  THANKS!

Those of us whose first kid is poised on the edge of the nest, flapping wings and getting ready to fly away, are in a bit of a panic.  I saw another mother-of-a-senior in the YMCA locker room recently.  She stood there in her swimming suit, scuba mask on her head, and asked somewhat frantically “So how are you feeling about Ian leaving home for college?”

I answered honestly:  “There’s still so much we haven’t taught him!  He’s not ready for prime time yet!”

Water drops sprayed as she shook her head vigorously up and down.  “I feel the exact same way!  My kids isn’t fully done yet!”  In that rushed encounter, we couldn’t articulate exactly what we had failed to teach our teens, but I’ve had some time to think about it.  And here are just a few examples.

1.  Clothing management.  Ian admits he’s still not sure how to do laundry.  He’s never ironed anything in his life.  Folding is a great unknown.  As for closet and dresser management, I’m reminded of comedian Steven Wright, who said “I have a seashell collection.  I keep it scattered on the beaches of the world.” 

2.  Thank you notes.  My first-born has almost certainly failed to internalize one of my rules:  always write a thank you note, make it at least three sentences long, and use cursive.  Envelopes and stamps must be involved:  texting, emailing, and Facebooking do not count.   (mind you, my own Christmas thank-yous are still unwritten…but do as I say, not as I do.)

3.  How to wait to launch into a story until the person you’re talking at has finished walking into the house, removed her coat, and put away groceries.

On the upside, he knows how to read a train schedule, drive a car, speak fluent Spanish, cook his own simple meals, get As in physics and chemistry (both Greek to me), and draw, paint, and etch.   He’s done a great job of being a student, which is his main responsibility at this point.  

As our wise friend Donna - also the parent of a senior – points out, it’s impossible to teach our kids every single life skill they need.  Some of them are more teachable than others, for one thing.  For another,  you can’t possibly impart every useful thing they’ll need to know.  

Some stuff they have to learn on their own, by bouncing a check, or by asking a woman if she’s pregnant, or by being put on probation at work for having a lousy attitude.  Bitter experience trumps hypothetical lecture.

That said, there’s still time for some teaching.  My two-part lesson plan will begin with the importance of the separation of lights and darks.  When he’s graduated from Washing 101, we’ll move on to Drying 101:  never put a wool sweater in the dryer.