Pass the Popcorn: Admission

Last Sunday morning, as per usual (okay, as per always), my teenage daughter went to the stable to ride her horse. (As is my chauffeurial way, I headed to Dunkin' Donuts for a decaf hazelnut coffee and their complimentary WiFi.) When she was finished, we drove to nearby Salem for a nice lunch with her dad. 

From there, we would go to a local cineplex to see a matinee of the new Tina Fey movie, Admission.

We had just sat down when my daughter announced that she had better not go to the movie after all, because she still had homework.

This was news to me.

It boggles my mind that, despite a seemingly endless series of "Have you done your homework?" "Do you need to study?" "Are you sure you don't have anything else due tomorrow?", all of which are met with shrugs and blank stares, my daughter suddenly remembers these things. But, she does. Suddenly. All the time.

So, I sat there staring at my caesar salad with poached salmon and considered my options. First of all, I was more than a little bit pissed. The riding was her thing. The movie was mine. This was supposed to be our nice mother-daughter afternoon together. We would split a large popcorn and sneak in some candy. Yes, I was a little pissed ... and a lot of disappointed.

But, of course, schoolwork has to come first! Isn't that what we're always preaching? Really, what kind of mother would I be if I let — nay, encouraged — my young scholar to neglect her studies for a romantic comedy? And, now that we're in high school (yes, that would be the collective we), every assignment carries an enormous burden. The grade you get on the homework will affect the grade you get in the course that affects the average you get for the year that affects the GPA you get after four years that directly affects the colleges you get into which affects the potential of living happily ever after FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIFE!!!

How ironic if my daughter lost her chance to go to a Harvard or a Yale because we played hooky to watch a movie about getting into a Princeton. 

Meanwhile, I couldn't timeshift the trip to the movie theatre because I was scheduled to interview Admission's novelist for Women's Voices for Change the next day. So, the only option was to go by myself.

My irritation soon wore off. There are worse ways to spend an afternoon than being alone in a movie theatre. In fact, there are benefits. I like to sit in the second or third row, dead center. I'm happiest when the movie screen completely fills my field of vision. When I'm part of a group, I usually have to compromise and sit farther back.

The movie was really enjoyable. Tina Fey, always smart and funny, was ... well, smart and funny. Paul Rudd was immensely likable as her "will they or won't they?" love interest. And Lily Tomlin pretty much stole the show as her louder-than-life feminist mother. The script was clever with just enough twists and turns. I went in a big fan of the book, but there were some major changes to the story that kept me engaged.

Besides the girl-meets-boy and long-lost-child plot lines that are front and center in the trailer (no spoilers here, thank you very much), what really fascinated me was the insider's perspective on college admissions. Oy vey! If the adopted, minority, published author, champion chess player, third-generation legacy, flutist with the 4.9 GPA is only on the wait list, what hope is left for our mere mortal children? It was discouraging to say the least. But also, somehow, liberating. There's no way to compete. As the film encourages more than once ... "What's the secret? Be yourself."

My daughter is very very (very very) good at that!

So, at the end of the day, yes, I was glad that my daughter went home and did her work. And, I was glad I saw Admission. And, guess what?

I got a large popcorn anyway. And, I was glad.

Jolly Good Show

There are only two things in this world that will get my tween daughter up at 5:00 a.m. One is an early flight to somewhere wonderful — a family vacation or a visit to our dear long-distance friends. The other? A horse show.

So yesterday, like the devoted, selfless mother that you all know me to be, I roused my young equestrienne at that godawful hour. The only resistance was a weak "Please mom, just five more minutes." Soon enough, she was up, getting dressed and packing her last minute gear. I went down to brew some coffee and make her breakfast.

As planned, we were on the road by 5:45. It was still dark, which (given that I had had zero time to put on any makeup or even comb my hair) was probably a good thing. We arrived at the stables just as dawn was breaking. There were already girls there and I settled in for a short wait while they loaded the horses and their tack trunks into trailers. Most of the event team were teens and tweens. They looked smart in their riding clothes and neat hair buns. Kind of like a Ralph Lauren ad. One of the benefits of being a stable mom is that you get these moments when you can picture yourself "to the manor born." Of course, for every instance that the girls are elegantly pressed and dressed, there are a hundred when the same girls are unkempt and quite literally covered in horse manure.

In addition to the show regulars, there were two nine-year olds. They were also decked out in their jodhpurs and velvet helmets. But, while the older girls were chatting and joking, the younger were unsmiling and mute. It was their first show and it might as well have been the Olympics. They were very, very, very nervous.

Wow, what a flashback! My own daughter's first show was about seven years ago. She competed in a class called "Lead Line Walk Trot." This means that the trainers had the horses on ropes as the young riders went through their paces for the judges. We had explained, "This is your first show, so you probably won't get a ribbon." But, it was all for nothing. Not only did she win a ribbon, it was a first place blue one. And, thus began a collection of awards that has since taken over her bedroom.

Back to the present. We drove in a convoy of trucks and trailers to the show grounds, a stable about an hour away. The older girls were utterly excited. The younger girls were utterly silent. The moms and trainers were somewhere in between.

Once all the horses were tacked up, the girls headed toward the warm-up ring. My daughter easily moved from jump to jump, her new pony happy to be outside and working for her. He's what one of her trainers calls, "Honest." He wants to please her and they are already a solid team after just a few months together. Soon, the call came for the first class, and the younger girls headed to the show ring.

The course comprised a series of nine low jumps in a zig-zagging pattern. Our junior riders were both disqualified when their horses, no doubt sensing the girls' tentativeness, refused multiple times. One poor girl was so flustered, she went over jump three the wrong direction instead of jump four. "Good try!" we encouraged them, but I'm not sure they heard us. (They looked a little shell-shocked.) They went back in for a couple more events, performing in much the same way each time. Finally, one of the girls made it through an entire course and earned a fifth place (OMG, pink!) ribbon. I don't think a ten-foot trophy would have meant as much to a more experienced rider.

The day continued, jumps were set higher, and the older girls started their classes. Between the four of them, they racked up several ribbons: a blue, a red, a yellow, a white, another pink and two browns. There were as many as twenty-five girls in each class, so these places were great. It was a long day; the grownups were hot and tired. The girls were hot and tired and grubby. (Suffice it to say, they no longer looked like Ralph Lauren ads. But, maybe they could have posed for the "before" portion of a "before and after" Tide spot.) We headed back to our own barn so the girls could put away their tack and groom their ponies. I looked at my watch. I had originally thought I'd be home by five o'clock. Eight looked more likely.

About 90 minutes later, we were finally ready to leave. But, another mother wanted to speak to me, a woman I've known for years and a good friend. She said that the mom of one of the younger girls had asked her to make sure I got a message. It seems that my daughter sought out the little rider after one of the latter's "epic fail" rounds. My daughter then regaled her with stories of refusals, mistakes, head-over-ears falls, and the most colorful of tales about the time that her horse threw her in the woods during a cross-country event and then galloped back to the trailer, nearly a mile away. I guess these reminiscences made the younger girl feel much better. And, I was transported back to the days when my daughter was one of the "little ones." How inconsolable she was after her own lousy days in the ring. And, how much she looked up to the older girls, all of whom are now in college or teaching riding themselves.

As we drove off to Dairy Queen (the consolation prize whenever anyone is "DQ'd" from an event), I smiled. My daughter won two ribbons. I won something much more valuable: the knowledge that no matter how peckish she may sometimes be with me, my daughter has the heart of a champion.

It's About Passion, People!

Tween and teen emotions run high. Whether it's elation (when things go their way) or devastation (when things don't) or any and every range in between. Most middle and high school students live very dramatic emotional lives.

This heightened sensitivity isn't limited to great big events, like falling in or out of love. A perceived snub in the cafeteria, a new episode of Glee, an unfair grade on a math test ... pretty much any day-to-day occurrence can be fraught with feeling.

So, it always surprises me when another mother complains that her daughter isn't passionate about anything. Granted, these moms aren't talking about exultation over a new cell phone (or misery as said cell phone is confiscated when its owner is caught using it after hours). They are talking about bigger issues: a sense of purpose, a mission, one's life's work.

I've never had this problem. From the time my daughter saw the movie Spirit with her little friends from Sundance Preschool, she has been passionate about one thing (and, pretty much one thing only): horses. Horses, horses, horses. All horses, all the time.

Now, as a fourteen-year old, horses are more than a hobby. My daughter is an athlete, practicing many hours per week, honing her skills and competing in events (often against women considerably older and more experienced). My daughter is a scholar, reading books — both fiction and non- — about horses, studying breeds and tack and technique. My daughter is a philanthropist, donating time and money to various organizations. She has helped save abandoned horses, worked with disabled children in therapeutic programs, and enabled inner city children to gain confidence by learning to ride. Because of her grand passion (and, trust me, it is a very grand, very passionate passion), my daughter has become a better student and a mentor to younger riders. She's already looking at colleges with Equine Studies curricula. (Apparently, I'll have to pay room and board for her pony as well as tuition. Help.)

I confess, as the reluctant mother of an equestrienne, I find horseback riding to be both expensive and inconvenient. But, I also appreciate the fact that my daughter is not hanging out downtown, drinking, smoking, or prematurely dating. She has a nightshirt that says, "Better the stall than the mall." Amen!

This past weekend, I had the amazing privilege of reconnecting with nearly a hundred people who shared my own youthful passion. As children and teenagers, we were part of a repertory theatre company in New York. We rehearsed four days a week after school and did four performances each weekend. We toured New England in the summers; we traveled to Canada and Washington, DC. We played at Lincoln Center, Broadway's Shubert Theatre, on TV and in the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade. (How cool is that!)

After 30 years, we were all ... well ... emoting (remember, we were theatre people). There were countless hugs and many tears. What struck me as we shared our extraordinary memories was that we all knew in our hearts that we had been part of something bigger than any of us as individuals. Even at the time, at fifteen, sixteen or seventeen years old, we recognized this. That is what I took away from my experience there. And, that is what my daughter is taking away from her experience now.

That's what passions are all about.

Will my daughter compete on the Olympic equestrian team? Probably not. Will she go on to a career in equestrian medicine or business or advocacy? Maybe. But, will she take away transferable skills, like how to set goals and work hard for something you want, how to handle disappointment, how to muck a stall? Yes.

Let's face it, figuratively speaking, we all need to know how to muck a stall.