Apply, yourself

"Dad, can we watch Rent tonight?"
"Sure!" Then I think about it. "Well, maybe...it depends what Corb's reaction will be when he finds out he has to sit through all that...ohhhhh..." I grit my teeth. "Shhh! Now listen, Ashes, I'm putting together all the stuff for your college apps. We need to concentrate on this."

And with that, I start to Google the next college on the list, so we can start the application.

Ashes nods and goes back to watching the fifth episode of Gossip Girl she's seen that day. Then, suddenly: "I want to play with her hair."

I look up from my typing. "What?"

"That girl. On the screen. I want to play with her hair. It's long, pretty, and blond."

"That's nice, Ashes. Now, would you mind it if we--"

"Oh my God! Did you just hear what Chuck Bass just said?"

Oh, my Lord. This kid! I decide to go travel down the path of patience. "No, Ashes, I was trying to concentrate on your college applications. You know, the ones that are due, like...now?"

"Oh." There's silence, except for the meaningless drone of Gossip Girl. Ah good, perhaps we can now make some progress! I start to type a little faster, unburdened by the curse of inter--

"Dad, didn't you say that Chuck Bass was from Desperate Housewives?"

--uptions. Dammit!

"Dad?"

I glance up at the television screen. "No, Ashes. I said that the guy standing next to him was." Then, I squint my eyes. "But on second thought, I think I thought he was somebody else."

"I mean, don't you just want to slap him in the face? Chuck Bass. Like, ten years ago, I would have totally slapped him."

I'm not sure exactly what that means. "Ashes, why don't we turn off Gossip Girl for just a little while? I bet we can bang this out in ten minutes. It really doesn't look that bad at all, really. We can just turn down the noise and focus on this, and then, you can go back to watching Gossip Girl. Okay?"

"Oh. Sure."

I turn off the television. Silence fills the room. Ah, this is nice...silence. I glance back down at the screen, and start to review the next field that we have to fill. "Now then, it looks as if we need to--"

"Oh my God! Dad, did you see on TV that there's this family that's adopted five monkeys? They totally run around and torment the family. Have you ever seen a monkey holding a steak knife? It's kind of adorable."

At that point, I want to throw up my hands. This is sheer craziness! I wonder what the college app process would have been like if I hadn't asked for a little concentration...

And yet.

Above all else, I am acutely aware that I am going to miss all of this, ten months from now.

Testify!

He held the mike close to his mouth, so that his words could be heard to greatest number of people. "If you hate someone, then the Lord says, you'll burn in hell, a thousand times over! For it says so in the good book, the only book you'll ever need to read--"

"Come back when you have pubic hair!"

The voice came from the audience, from a college boy in a prisoner outfit. His friends laughed, low and dirty, and he tossed a cigarette in the speaker's direction and walked away.

His crude request wasn't off the mark, though,. The boy with the mike could hardly be more than ten years old, with short blond hair, piercing brown eyes, and a grim look on his face that suggested he wasn't enjoying himself one bit. He appeared to be a boy with the weight of the world on his shoulders, and perhaps given what he was preaching, he was.

Unlike the crowd around him, partying in the city of Salem, he was wearing a simple brown outfit and dark boots. Across the street, presumably, his parents were keeping a not-so-careful eye on him, laboring as they were under a huge sign that read, "REPENT, PEOPLE OF SALEM!"

Hey, it's hard work, trying unsuccessfully to convert a sinful flock. However, this isn't to say that the grim-faced boy was alone, because he was being watched over and followed, every step of his speech, by a smiling woman with a purple robe, dressed as a witch. Every so often, she'd dance behind him and sing, "This is total bullshit, this is total bullshit..."

"You are doomed, you worshipers of witches, you followers of the devil!" the boy continued, ignoring the woman behind him. "You don't have to be! The Lord loves you, I love you, and we both want you--"

"Go home and love yourself," said a short boy standing next to a tall girl with pink hair, as the crowd started to grow around the boy.

I tugged at Corb's sleeve. "This is awful," I said. "I hope nothing happens to him."

"They're not going to hurt him," said Corb, transfixed. "This is fascinating. I want to see what happens next." Next to us, Ashes and Theo nodded, not wanting to miss a second of the drama playing out.

The boy ignored the girl and the purple witch, and continued on with his testimony. A group of wicked boys gathered close to him, started taunting him. "Where do you come from?" asked one of the boys, in his face.

"Arkansas," said the boy.

"And this is how you're fucking spending your Halloween? Don't you want to live life?"

The boy paused for a bit, lost his focus, dropped the mike. Then, finding inspiration, he shoved it back to his mouth. "But what is living life? Do you like the life YOU live?"

Frustrated, Pink Hair ran across the street. "Are you just going to leave him alone there and not have someone look after him?" she screamed ao the people holding the "REPENT" sign. "How can you call yourself Christians if you just leave your little boy alone like that?"

A heavy-set man with thinning hair came forward, wearing a blue suit. "Now hold on, ma'am, he's not alone! He has the power of the Lord by his side. But, do you?"

"Maybe you should be by his side, too!" she continued. "What if something happens to him, while you're standing there holding your signs--"

"Nothing's going to happen," said the man, who nonetheless walked across the street, to get face to face with the lady, as the boy continued to proselytize. "But do you know what's going to happen to you? If you continue this sinful life, of witch worshiping and idolatry, you surely are going to burn in hell--"

"How dare you?" shouted Pink Hair, incensed. "You know, I don't have a problem with your religion at all, it's fine with me. Do what you want. But how dare you try to scare me into--"

"Woah woah woah!"

"How dare you try to use a little boy to--"

"Shhh, shhh, shh!" said the man. "It's my turn, let me speak."

Pink Hair stopped. "Okay."

"We're not trying to scare anyone," he said. "We have every right to be here and to speak our mind. All we're trying to point out is that there is one god and one god only, and that these people here who are spending the day, dressing up as demons and worshipping false gods, are sure to burn in hell and suffer a million horrible degradations, unless they embrace the Lord our God, the man who gave his life and died on the cross at Calvary."

Pink Hair rolled her eyes. "See? There you go again!"

"Shhh, shhh, shhh!"

But Pink Hair was just warming up. "You just tried to scare me into--"

"Now, ma'am, it's my turn to talk, you had your say--"

Suddenly, Corb was there by Pink Hair's side. "She DIDN'T have her say!" he shouted to the man. "You just lectured her! When she tried to respond, you cut her off. At least listen to what SHE has to say!"

And with that, the woman tried again. The preacher man gave him a second to respond. Meanwhile, the 10-year-old boy had handed the mike over to an older man, also on the heavy side, who was thumbing through his Bible, ready to begin his testifying. I turned the kids, who were watching Corb and the woman, locked in mortal combat with the preacher man. "You want to leave?" I asked.

Ashes' eyes were huge. "No, I want to stay. This is the most fun all night!"

There's a lesson for you, sinners: you can take the kids to Salem, spend a couple of hundred on wax museums, candlelit tours, and dinners, but sometimes, the best entertainment in life is absolutely free.

We must have spent an hour watching the preachers go on and on and get yelled and mocked by people dressed as witches, or goblins, or Sponge Bob Square Pants. When we finally left, it was only because the preachers had decided to take a break and our legs were killing us.

I think my kids learned an important lesson last night: forget about the curtain and the orchestra. Real life is more immediate, you never know what's noing to happen, and there's always a hint of viiolence in the air. In the end, street theater can make for the best theater of all.

Another crossing.

6:30 in the morning. Saturday. The alarm goes off.

I throw the blankets back, stumble off the couch. Shuffle down the hall and knock on Ashes' door.

"Time to wake up."

"Mmmmmm hmmmm." I wait until I'm pretty sure she's out of bed, then move back to the couch.

Twenty minutes later. I stumble out of bed again and move over to the table where the printed out SAT ticket is placed. Scan it over, quickly. Excited, I moved down the hall, knock on Ashes' door again.

"Mmmmmm hmmmm."

"Hey! I just realized that it says we have to be there at 7:45, latest. That means we have fifteen more minutes to sleep!"

"Mmmmmm hmmmm." I move back to the couch. Sleep.

7:15, we're in the stang and just about to pull out of the parking lot on our way to Cumberland High School. This should be great, I think to myself, finally a perfect situation where nothing is going to go wrong. I printed out the Mapquest last night and it's only twenty minutes away, so we'll get there with ten minutes to spare. We have the pencils, the scientific calculator, Ash has been studying like crazy and should feel totally prepared and at ease and do just fine, and...

"What about my photo ID?" Ashes asks.

And with one sentence, my little bubble is popped. "Um, what?"

"My photo ID. I told you last night, I forgot it at mom's house. Remember? You called her up, she said she'd leave it in her car with the doors unlocked?"

"Oh."

No, no...don't panic, it'll be okay. Even if Josie's house is fifteen minutes away and...

Flash forward to 7:43. The photo ID has been picked up and I'm speeding down the highway in my stang, having spent the past half an hour watching the time ticking down, knowing that you can't change the laws of physics, no matter how much you would like to. 7:15 becomes 7:25 becomes 7:35 becomes...

"It's almost 7:45, says Ashes.

"I know." I try to keep a good attitude. "But we're almost at the exit."

"But we only have two minutes to go! And they're REALLY strict about these things."

"They'll let you in, don't worry. I'll walk in with you."

"It WON'T matter! They're really strict about these things. We might as well turn around and go back home now."

"No, no! Don't give up like that. We'll be fine." I put my foot on the accelerator just a little harder. "Just keep studying."

Ashes closes her eyes and places her study cards on the floor. "I've studied enough..."

"Look! We're almost at the exit." Just keeping thinking good thoughts keep thinking good thoughts...she's worked too hard, can't let this happen, it won't happen they wouldn't let it...

7:47, and we pull into the high school. I notice with relief that other kids are walking into the high school. And, not being thrown out. "You want me to go with you?" I ask.

"No, I'll go. I'll let you know if there's a problem." That in and of itself is a minor miracle, as Ashes ALWAYS wants me to go with her.

She opens the car door and heads to the entrance. I wait there as long as I can, not wishing to block anyone in. After a few minutes, I take a turn around the parking lot, then move back to the entrance. I do this six times, then park and walk over to the entrance, just to be on the safe side.

Ashes is nowhere to be seen. Just to be even safer, I send her a text, "You make it in?"

A few minutes go by, then: "Y"

As I drive off, I type into the Blackberry "Good luck! You'll do fine." I pause, then type: "I love you."

Maybe it's early hour or the lack of sleep, but as I type it, I start to feel a catch in my throat, and my eyes start to get misty. Silly sentimental man, Josie always tells me. And, of course, she's right, I am.

All I know is, one more hurdle has been crossed. And that feels good and scary (and good), all at the same time.

Growing up is so hard. So many stages and tests and things to be done as one makes the transition. It's hard on the kids, but especially...most especially, I think, it's hard on the parents.

Ten reasons I hate doing Algebra.

I flip through her book, spread out across one side of her messy red bed. I try hard not to let the desperation show. Don't let her smell the fear, that would be the worst thing...it's gotta be in here somewhere in this thick book...gotta be... "Oh, wait! Here it is. It says here in this book..." I scan the page, trying to refresh my memory from my days in high school.

And Miss Thing sits across from me, picking at her underarm. I tactfully try to ignore that. "So, if you want to graph 2x-3y=9, all you need to do is to let x equal 0. So what do you get if x equals 0?"

Ashes keeps picking at the scaly bumps formed around her armpit.

"Ashes? What do you do to x to solve for y?"

Ashes stops her picking, looks over my way. "Dad? Do you think I could have herpes of the armpit?"

Okay, okay. Maybe if I just humour the beast, maybe we might actually get some work done. "Gee, I'd hate to think how you'd get herpes of the armpit, Ash."

Ashes giggles at the thought and goes back to scratching.


"So, Ash? What would you do to solve y if x is 0?"

Scratch scratch scratch.

Okay, this might take some redirection. "Well, if x is 0 that means that 2x would be two times zero, right? So what's two times zero?"

"Zero."

"Good. Right! So that leaves us with 3y equals 9, which means--"

Ashes stops her scratching, abruptly. A look of concern passes ovcer her face. "Dad, can you be allergic to Teen Spirit?"

"Well, I suppose so." I abandon the book, glance over at her, suspiciously. "It just seems weird that you could all of a sudden become allergic to something you've been wearing all day and for the past three months..."

"But you could, right?"

"Sure. And if we can just get through this we could--"

"So what could I do to stop it from itching?"

"Well, you could stop scratching."

As if. "Besides that."

"You could scrub under your armpits..."

Ah, there you go. Ashes smiles at me, sweetly. "Daddy, can I go scrub under my armpits?"

Oh, groan. Just keep it together, Teddy. Be firm. "Sure you can, right after we just finish this--"

Scratch scratch scratch. "Oh, this armpit is so itchy. Do you mind if I just go wash them and then come right back?"

Bang, bang, bang. This is the sound of me mentally banging my head up against a proverbial wall.

It's no use. Better to give in, Otherwise, I'd be lying on this damn bed until midnight. "Sure. Go ahead, Ash."

"Oh, and I'm going to get a drink while I'm at it. You mind?"

Five minutes later, she's back on the bed. I read through the book and the paper in front of me. Refresher course. "So, 2x-3y=9, X equals zero. Two times zero equals zero so we're left with 3y=9. So what do you do--"

"Ouch!" She places her hands to her armpits. "My armpits are BURNING! I must have scratched them too much or something."

"The pain will go away. Come on, focus! What would you do to 3y=9?"

Ashes places a finger to her mouth and looks up at the ceiling. "Divide by three."

"Good! Divide by three! Which would be...?"

"Ummm, three."

"Good! Three, let's write that down, Three. Now, let's let Y equal zero, So, what would you--"

"Owwwww!" She places both hands under her pits. "My armpits are soooooooo burning!"

"Ashes--"

"Want to hear my song?" Suddenly she starts singing, belting out in a little girl voice the theme to Star Wars. " Herpes...under my armpits...it's really itchy...oh yes it is...herpes...under my armpits...really really itchy..."

Sigh. I can't stand it...I just can't stand it...the things some people will do to get out of graphing the linear equations of two variables...

Then I burst out laughing. I can't help it. "Sing it again, Ash."

Hey, my little girl may never be a quantum physicist. But at least she can sing about her herpes-ridden armpits, from a galaxy far, far away.

Monday night football.

"I don't wanna watch Pretty Little Liars!"

"I NEED to! I've seen every episode so far. It's the only show I actually watch on TV."

"But it's stupid! I don't wanna watch it!"

"DAAA-AA-AA-AD!"

I knew the moment was coming. I gritted my teeth and gripped the wheel tighter. "Why can't you watch it in your room, Ashes?"

From the back of the car, I could hear Ashes punch the back seat. "Because it'll be on during supper and besides, we don't get that channel in my room. Stupid basic cable."

"Do to!" Theo said belligerently, sitting right next to me in the passenger side,

"Do NOT!"

"It's on channel 26, you moron!"

"DAAA-AA-AA-AD!"

I slowed the car at a traffic light, irritable after a full day of work. "Give me a minute, wouldja? I swear, you guys fight about everything. Ask anything, Theo, you'd say it was black. Ashes, you'd say it was white. And you're always, always asking me to somehow make it gray."

Theo smirked. "Where'd you hear that one?"

"I didn't. I made it up myself." Then I paused. "But I may have to write that one down, later..."

Thirty minutes later, and the TV arrangements had been made. Ashes would watch her Pretty Little Liars, which Theo was not happy about. Now came the time for the food battle. After a bit of nagging, I hesitantly said, "Now kids, we can either have chicken breasts or Hamburger Helper."

"Oh, God," groaned Ashes. "Anything but Hamburger Helper."

"But I like Hamburger Helper!" yelled out Theo from his room.

"Well I don't!" Ashes called back from the couch, with equal intensity. "It tastes like crap!"

"If it tastes like crap, then I should start eating what comes out of my bum!" Theo called back.

Score another one for Theo. At the very least, the kid can make me laugh.

We settled on English muffin pizza, and as a compromise, watched Theo's show after Pretty Little Liars was over PS: PLL was pretty and little and frankly, abysmal. So, I lied. I didn't feel like fighting with Ashes over it. Hey, if it's the only show she watches each week on TV, who am I to knock it? Besides, we had agreed to only watch it in the living room on alternate weeks, so I won't have to see it for a while.

Another Monday night crisis averted. But I'm left marveling anew at my father's rules for dinner, when I was growing up: no television at the dinner table, and you like what mom makes. Things were so much simpler back then. The only time we'd get to watch TV was when dad had a meeting. That's when mom would give us a treat.

Or maybe, she was giving herself a break. Come to think of it, not having the TV on would mean we'd actually have to talk to each other. Maybe mom had the right idea, after all. Conversations coming from the tube are so much less stressful than conversations coming from those chitlins. It's hard making shades of gray all the time.