MindSpinner

Last night I went shopping for the items on a lengthy “cadet’s packing list” from the National Guard ChalleNGe Academy. White boxers. Gray t-shirts. One comb. One bottle of shampoo. Stationery and envelopes. Seven pairs of white crew socks without colored rings. Two white bath towels and two white wash clothes. Foot powder. Two locks with two keys each. One prepaid phone card. Lots, lots more.

I’ve only just started.

At moments it is hard to do this shopping. In the towel aisle at Meijer, eyes sting and fill and a hug would be in order except it’s not an option because there’s nobody around except the woman rounding the corner, pushing a cart. This is sad, like the last time I shopped for dog food for our very old Sheltie. She was deaf, almost blind, suffering and listless - the life had gone from her eyes - and I had made the appointment to take her to the vet one last time. I bought seven cans of dog food, one for each of the seven remaining days of her life. I do not pass cans of dog food without remembering those seven cans.

My son will be fine for the duration of this program, I think. He’ll learn things he wouldn’t let me teach him. It is only his childhood that is ending, severed with a measure of suddenness because he does not seem to be able to leave it any other way.

This morning I drove an hour to the base to see the academy. What came with me in the floorboard in front of the passenger seat was an old lunch box/cooler. I’d thrown a cold Coke into it the other day for a long drive. It still has my son’s name written neatly on the top - he carried it to school when he was a little boy. I thought of putting it into the trunk. Mommy kryptonite.

I’m fascinated by the fact that my son has chosen this course of action. The academy itself is housed in those work-horse army base buildings that look as though they might have been into battle themselves. In fact, it is being renovated. I suppose renovation is a sort of battle, whether of buildings or of lives. The bunk rooms are stark - four bunks, bare mattresses, concrete block walls - a bit like freshman dorms only there won’t be posters and stereos to mask the austerity. The classrooms are little more inviting. But this place is not about pampering.

My son will have two weekend passes during the 22 weeks of the program, and I’ll see him on a single “family day.” Cadets earn levels of privileges dependent upon their performance during the first two weeks. When they move to level one (from level 0), they get one five-minute phone call per week. When the move to level two, they get two five-minute phone calls. They make their beds, do their laundry, iron their clothes. They work hard to earn outings and other privileges, and they can lose hard-earned honor guard status for forgetting to button a shirt pocket button.

They also have a lot of help and support, it seems, enough to turn a significant number of lives around. My son must know he needs rigorous structure, discipline and support that a single mom allied with a local public high school simply cannot provide.

My job description is fairly clear cut. I am to help him get everything together, and I am to see him off with a stiff upper lip and as little ado as possible on July 16. I can send care packages and letters, but I suspect I will have to be careful to avoid making my efforts conspicuous. I am also to help him stay the course by not rescuing him in the first weeks just because the adjustment is tough.

Parenting is not for wimps.