Pumpkins picked fresh at the Scattergood Farm
So my dear friends,
Sorry for not writing for a while — once I got back from the yacht, I thought my life would seem dull. Normal. Uninspiring.
Hah!
The night I arrived in Milwaukee, I made a bee-line for North Star Bistro, because my dad and Eve were having supper there with some dear friends. They asked me about the boat and the people, and I told them, “I’m richer than they are. I live a much more interesting and engaged life — I’m curious about people, and life isn’t just about transactions, like what can I get away with.” With a few months of perspective, I think this is even more solidified.
I had a week to get myself back in the swing of things, and then I went back to the bank. A few weeks later, and we were off to Boston to celebrate with Jona (who is now Jon, I have to remember), for his graduation from Brandeis. Dad and Eve went with us, but unlike the Florida trip they had taken in March, this one was a killer.
We heard Yo Yo Ma play cello when he received his Doctor of Letters, and David Brooks deliver the commencement address which encouraged the graduates to find something to commit themselves to. We were able to get a wheel-chair van to take us up to the departmental graduation ceremonies, where Jon got his diploma. Bachelors Degree in History with Honors, double major in Politics and a minor in Music. Pretty cool.
We were exhausted and hungry, so after a quick stop to get some food, some of us went to Jon’s dorm and others to the hotel to rest. We met up that night at an Italian restaurant with Jon’s girlfriend, Michelle, and even though you could see how tired Dad was, he said emphatically: ”This is the best Father’s Day present ever.”
Huh? I said, “Dad, Father’s Day isn’t for another few weeks.” He repeated himself, “This is the best Father’s Day present ever!” For him, seeing one of his grandchildren graduate from college was a ceremonial milestone. And he was so glad to be there.
By the next afternoon, he was admitted into a local hospital, suffering congestive heart failure and oh, so weak. I stayed an extra day, and Eve ended up staying another two weeks, until she was able to arrange to have him flown home in an air ambulance. He was admitted to Froedert Hospital in Milwaukee, and after four more days, he died, this sweet, sweet man, who breathed his last.
Meanwhile, back at the ranch, my son Zach was doing all kinds of things that got my attention. Mostly stuff I wished he would stop doing, but you don’t always get what you want. After sitting shivah for a full week, I went back to work at the bank again. Zach’s grades were abysmal, and at 15 years old, his prospects of finding summer work were bleak. His choice of friends was disturbing, and I could tell we needed to make a big change, but what?
Enter the boarding school idea — if we can’t effectively parent him at home, then sending him to a boarding school makes total sense. He needs a re-set, to learn to study and achieve (as my own high school dropout brother said, “He’s not a stupid kid; he’s just making stupid choices.”) He also needs to be kept a lot busier than he had been, not just playing soccer, but year round activities. Fortunately, I knew just the place: Scattergood Friends School, a Quaker boarding high school in West Branch, Iowa.
My own summer travels had taken me to the site of the American Hebrew Academy, a co-ed pluralistic Jewish boarding high school, but it felt way too competitive. I liked the idea of a farm/school/community that starts each day with 15 minutes of “collection”, silence and contemplation. Could be good for anyone’s jangled nerves.
Zach was thrilled to be accepted and we brought him here one day before his 16th birthday, and two weeks since our last encounter with the local police. Yes it had been THAT kind of summer. Things were going well until one week later, when he called in excruciating pain. He thought that he had re-injured his hamstring or pulled or torn his quad. One trip to the ER didn’t get to the heart of the problem — they gave him pain meds and muscle relaxant. When he started having fever the next day, we agreed he had to go back, and this time, they tracked down the source of the pain: a dual-site abscess near his pelvic bone, where the hamstring attaches. The pain was from the abscess pushing on his sciatic nerve. My stomach twisted when I heard that — once, I had pain there, and it was horrible.
The abscesses were drained and a temporary drain was left in to help his body get rid of the infection, which turned out to be staph. I drove directly to the hospital to be with him, and stayed until Andy arrived four days later. I went back home once I could see that he was improving, but in order to let him out, we needed someone who could be responsible for hooking up his PICC line twice a day, and the school didn’t want that responsibility.
Guess who is in Iowa for five weeks? I’ll write more about the life of the school in my next post. Just wanted to catch up on my recent days in paradise!
