Remember me telling you about this kid? The teenaged son of…. a good friend of mine, yes, a friend of mine.

And how this kid maybe, just maybe mind you, maybe went back to school this week. Being that classes started on Monday and all, And, how this may have been a really big deal, because this kid, my friend’s son, may not have been able to attend school for a long time before this.

Well, this kid and all the significant adults making significant decisions with him, thought going back to school was a good idea and that Monday was as good a time as any to try.

And, try he did. This kid got up at the Buttcrack O’Dawn to go to school since classes started at Seven O’Dark in the morning. And he went to classes, classes he had abandoned more than six months ago. And it was hard.

Not because he was scared, or anxious or couldn’t do the work, but because he had got out of practice.

“It was damn hard, Mom.” But, this kid was too nice to talk like that to his mother, so he just thought this, out loud.

And the homework. The OH.MY.GOD. homework had to be done. That first night was a struggle and the boy and I my friend fell back into their old habits of avoidance and parental meltdowns.

That was until a very wise woman bitch slapped the mom for being such a colossal putz, telling her to chill the hell out and let him do this on his own. Succeed or fail, it was his to do.

After that, evening homework was no big thang and done without prompting, without tear, without gnashing of teeth.. and all was good.

Until Friday afternoon when I my friend had to check the kid’s grades online to see if he was indeed doing all his homework, classroom work, et cetera, et cetera.

It must be said that in a previous time, whenever the mom had to do this she would become, literally, physically ill. To the point that the colors blue and red ~ the font colors used to show missing grades and assignments ~ could cause her to throw up a little in her mouth, just a little.

But, because she loves her son, and because he faced down his homework and did what he had to do, this was her burden to bear.

Typing in her son’s student ID and password, those dreaded text tables appeared….

And it was good… and she could take her hand from her mouth, and unclench her fists, and breathe a sigh of relief.

There is still that fear of another shoe dropping, of all of this being too good to be true, of jinxing what some may call hopefulness. But for now, my friend is so very proud of her son.

And he is a little proud of himself.