My habit of helping fails under my own roof when it comes to assisting Will or Liam with homework and organizing how to get it done.  Five years ago, I was overwhelmed with Will’s move to sixth grade at a new school; I couldn’t fathom how he, a little 10-year-old, would be able to manage a daily class schedule that was on a seven-day rotation, plus a heavy load of homework every evening.  

After a week of my “helping,” Will and I were both in tears.  At my husband Bill’s suggestion, I stepped back and let Will work it out.  Now, I work out the driving schedule but am far removed from any of the day-to-day workings of Will or Liam’s school life.  Their grades are good, so I refrain from getting the waters murky with the regular dabble of my fingers in their business.

For Will, I’ve learned that when he’s stressed I will hear about it, but that I’m the safe place to release.  Generally, Will is independent and has no interest in my attempt to help beyond providing giant ears.  Last year, I did suggest that he perhaps skip a gymnastics practice to make more time to fit in a project that he was worried about.  “Are you kidding me?? That’s the only thing that keeps me going!”  Will has a better work/exercise balance in place than most adults.

Will is a junior this year which means the eyes of the college admissions counselors are getting ever closer.  The GPA submitted on college applications next fall relies heavily on how this year progresses.  Will has a natural will to learn, but getting that almighty grade trespasses through him daily. 

With midterms this week and next, Will packed his school backpack to take to the gymnastics meet at West Point Military Academy last weekend.   We were leaving Friday night and wouldn’t return until Sunday afternoon.  With a four-hour car ride, I thought it seemed like a good idea for Will to try to get studying in on the drives.

This is the fourth or fifth year the team has traveled to New York for this meet.  It has become a highlight of the year: a competitive meet in a major arena and families together in a hotel for a couple of nights.  We have known some of these families for at least six or seven years.  To me, this weekend means intense competition for the gymnastics team and then after the meet, having an evening of laughs while relaxing with friends back at the hotel.   

Customarily, on Saturday evening, the boys swim and hang out in one another’s rooms, and at some point, they all end up around a table in the lobby playing games.  This is tradition – that group of young men scrunched around a table chatting and laughing for a couple of hours.  During competition over the years, they have become more focused and serious.  Back at the hotel, they regain their youthfulness. 

This year, around ten boys, plus their families, were at the hotel on Saturday night following that afternoon’s competition.  The weekend of competition is divided among gymnastics levels, and most of the boys, including Will, had competed Saturday while a few would be competing Sunday.  After the Saturday afternoon meet, as Will was walking from the car to the hotel, he said that he was going to study for a while.  I turned to him – just short of turning on him – and said, “No, you will not.”  He was taken aback.  I backed down a bit. “It’s your choice, but I don’t think that’s a good idea.”  I kept walking.

Why did Will’s utterance of his plan to study feel like a gut punch?  Planning this weekend took effort, time, and money – was that why?  Only partly.  The intrinsic value of pulling this weekend together lay at the root of my retort. 

“West Point” is a gem.  A weekend of working and competing.  A weekend of being a kid with a bunch of buddies, of being completely present.  Those moments don’t happen often in everyday life.  This place was ripe for those interactions – a kind of bubble of raw youth.

In the lobby with his teammates, I heard Will say, “Yeah, my mom told me not to do homework.”  And he didn’t.  I went to bed a couple of hours before the party broke up; they were firmly anchored in loud camaraderie when I left the lobby.

We arrived home Sunday at 3 p.m., and Will disappeared to his bedroom to do homework.  By 10 p.m., he had finished what needed to be done for school Monday.  On Monday, he texted from school that he needed to skip practice that evening to get some extra study time in.  I don’t know if that was a result of not bowing out of the West-Point-Saturday-night follies.  I do know that those West Point evenings with his friends will be long remembered – more so than missing a gymnastics practice or stealing away to do homework on that trip.