March 15, 2007 @ 8:54 am | Filed under: Family

When I heard Mike send these words down the hallway in my direction, I just grinned. These five simple words strung together have become quite popular around our house, and are even being adopted by our extended family and friends.

"I’m gonna write a letter."

Code for: Someone or something has highly displeased me and I don’t think I can just stand by and take it; therefore, I am going to write down my annoyance in letter form and send it to "them" (we don’t usually know who "they" are) so that my voice will be heard and this matter rectified immediately.

Oh, if only life were that simple, right?

This all began during the holidays when Nate was home from college. After receiving his first semester’s grades in the mail, he was very bummed to learn that, because of his math grade, he would have to take the course again.

"This is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard." Those of you who know Nathan can probably just imagine him standing there, with those blue eyes wide with such passion and conviction, his voice rising with each passing thought that he’d have to take the dreaded math course all. over. again.

I, of course, tried to be the voice of reason. "Son, lots of people struggle with college math. Lots of students have to take a math course more than once. It’s no big deal. Really."

"I’m a history major, for crying out loud. Why in the world do they (again, we really don’t know who "they" are) think I need to have so much math? Like, WHEN am I EVER going to use it?"

Okay, he’s got me there. I happen to agree that math is evil and really should be done away with. But, I’m not "them" and I really don’t have a say in the matter. At all.

"Son, I understand how you feel."

Really, I did. But I also knew that no amount of griping and complaining was going to somehow magically erase the necessity of this math course from Nate’s degree requirements. This was one of those tough parenting moments, trying to decipher the difference between being the understanding maternal comfort and also the voice of paternal authority.

"I’m thinking that the best thing is to probably just accept that you’ll have to take this course again, and then just tackle it head-on. We’ll hire a tutor if we need to." I gave it my best shot. "We’ll do whatever it takes to help you get through math."

"I’ll tell you what I’m going to do." Now Nate placed a firm fist on the breakfast bar between us as those blue eyes still flashed with what could only be termed righteous indignation. "I’m gonna…write a letter!"

He didn’t say to who, but I could only assume that it would be addressed to "them." At that point, I could only nod and mumble something vaguely encouraging like, "Okay, Son, you do what you think you need to do." I’m all for exploring your options and I know that sometimes you just don’t know until you ask. All I do know for sure is that Nate is currently enrolled in this same math course…

A few weeks later, however, letter writing was once again on his mind. He calls my cell late one night and I could tell immediately (come on, Moms, how can we tell by the RING that this is no ordinary call?) that he was distressed.

"I just got a ticket."

Judging from the sound of his voice, I envisioned the worst. A speeding ticket, maybe even a fender bender or minor wreck. My mother’s heart instantly reached out to him.

"What is it, Nate? Whatever it is, it’ll be okay." Inside I was quavering though, not sure I was ready to hear his next words. "Were you on the highway? What happened?"

"No! I got a ticket from the campus police. For having my parking sticker on the WRONG SIDE OF THE WINDSHIELD!"

I tried to wrap my mind around the fact that he was okay – no banged-up car, no one hurt, all is well – but all I could hear was:

"Can you BELEIVE that? A $40 ticket for having my sticker on the WRONG side. That is. not. right. You know what I’m going to do?"

Ah…I had a feeling…

"I’m gonna write a letter!"