Ninety-one degrees and no one is sleeping. September has lost its cool. We’re in the middle of our stories.
Last week Tom’s trajectory took a hit and turned. He wrote his letters and met with his advisor. So far he’s ignored angry cell phone calls from his prof, but sometime this week he’s got to meet with the guy again. The battery for my cell phone finally came, (Ebay! Two weeks!) so now I’m in electronic reach again. But mainly Gene and I are background support, which is the way it should be.
The good news is Tom’s already achieved a minor in music and the prof can’t drum him out of any bands this year. He’s a section leader for the jazz group he made it into. The advisor agreed the prof stepped over the line and assured Tom she’ll help him out. We’ll see. The biggest fallout is Tom is looking for a new major so he never has to work with the guy again. He’ll just work around him, take private lessons from a grad student he likes, do his music, work with who he wants to work with, do it his own way. The parents’ patterns haunt the children, but perhaps this time it won’t be a bad thing.