
I would like to be funny, cute, adorable, spunky, witty, clever and sexy right now, but I'm not. I'm currently working on a Masters in Shitology. I have no study group, I'm flying solo, but I am certainly deeply in the subject matter at hand.
The Italian school system is totally different than the American one, and since this is Jordan's last year of middle school, he has to choose a high school. These are some of the choices:
High School specializing in Classical Studies
High School specializing in Scientific Studies
High School specializing in Art
" Social Sciences
Technical Institute
Institute of Architectural Studies
Professional Institute with three choices: Hotel Admin., Graphic Advertising, and something else I can't think of...
School of Agriculture
Commercial Institute with three different specializations in Computer Science, Linguistics, or Tourism
And
The
List
Goes
On...
At age 13 a student must decide what he wants to be when he grows up. Having taken into consideration all of his needs, interests and the fact that I would like him to be able to breathe as he goes through his teen years, we have chosen The Professional School specializing in graphic advertising that also has courses in photography and filmmaking alla Rachel Chaikof. I took Jordan there to check it out and his support teacher came with us, she's amazing and loves him. The teachers there greeted us and were so nice. They said to me, "This is a school that teaches students to communicate their thoughts, feelings and desires by giving them different means of expression through computer graphics, video, photography and film"
Signed, sealed and delivered. We're all about communication here.
So, we're all standing there and one of the teachers says, "Jordan, tell me something about yourself!"
And Jordan, who was in a mood, replied, "Well, you know, I'm American so I don't really speak Italian very well. And I'm going through a very difficult time in my life right now."
Shit.
Hmm.
I kind of just stood there speechless. I just let him ramble on and on. Then we thanked everyone and went on our way. I took him for a piece of his favorite pizza and he said he liked the school. A man of few words that day.
Jordan is thirteen years old, going through a separation and the stress of leaving a secure middle school for a high school filled with smokers and boobs. It ain't the easiest of times here in the Cutler household. He made an excuse for how he speaks and it wasn't that he's deaf, it was that he's American. So, I said to him, "Jordan, there's nothing wrong with how you speak, your Italian's much better than mine. And you know, you can tell them you're deaf and tell them about your cochlear implant, no problem."
He said, "I know, I'm just tired."
I told him I understand.
He hugged me and I think smiled.