Situational Awareness

For years John and I have preached to our kids about situational awareness. "Don't become so engrossed in your phone that you wander into the street and get smooshed. Don't stand in an ant bed watching your parents play tennis and get stung all over like I did. Don't eat chicken that sat on the counter all night. And absolutely do not wear your headphones in public places. You need to hear what is going on around you."

Because we have coached them for years, I was flabbergasted that my 20 year old daughter used zero sense recently in regard to the situation she was in. You know the parents who post about their kids making the Dean's List for the fourth consecutive time? Yeah, that isn't us. We are the family that is grateful for no academic suspension after three semesters — each one a nail-biter finish that would give reality TV a run for its money. Thank God my kid tests well. What she doesn't do well? Homework and time management. I know, a lot of 20-year-olds haven't learned to manage their time. It's part of the process. Hers, however, goes above and beyond — to the point that a therapist I know referred to it as an actual condition: Time Blindness.

Unfortunately, we did not catch this when she was young and still listened to us. John has tried repeatedly to help her build a calendar. Something with a due date three weeks out might as well belong to a different semester. There is no pre-planning. It remains completely nebulous until — well, until it reaches panic distance.

Which is exactly where she is right now. There is an assignment due in four days. There is no way it will be finished, plus the long-sleeve button-down shirt she has to sew for her elective — costume design — plus five late German assignments. I am baffled that college professors allow late work. All I can think is that college has become so expensive that the people footing the bill would revolt if their kids had to retake a class three times because of missing homework. Though I don't remember having this much homework myself. Some of my classes had five tests and that was it. I loved it. I assured Helen her homework woes would be over when she got to college. Boy, was I wrong.

There is about a week left in semester four of Helen's college career. Now that medium-grade panic has set in, I spent yesterday trying to slap together a last-minute plan to get her projects across the finish line. My younger daughter and I cut the school day short and headed over for lunch and a planning session. It was mid-plan when Helen mentioned, "Oh, the TA did say we could have more time if it really seemed like an emergency. I'm going to ask for an extension." "Great," I said. "When?" It is Thursday. The project is due Monday. This needs to happen chop-chop.

Helen looked at me like a deer in the headlights. She is clearly not yet at the stage of life where she thinks in terms of work days — Saturday and Sunday do not count. Was she planning to wait until Sunday night and slip an email under the door at 11:59pm? Hi, my end-of-semester project isn't done. It's an emergency. Can I turn it in Friday instead? I really wished I had a fly swatter to beat her with. One with dead flies all over it. She is a bio major and this would completely gross her out.

We arrived back at her dorm and planted ourselves in the study room ten feet from her door. The room that is so messy we are not allowed inside. It can't be any worse than mine was in college, but I understand her not wanting us to see. We weren't there to judge her housekeeping anyway. We were there in silent vigil, keeping her accountable to her late German assignments and the email she needed to send asking for more time.

Writing the email was apparently hard work. You would think from the look on her face that she was composing a Dear John letter. "Helen, do you need me to write it? Just say you can't do the project justice without more time."

Finally — finally — she read me the three lines she had been working on for thirty minutes.

Dear Blah, Blah, Blah,

Hi, sorry I didn't respond to your email about presenting in class. I didn't see it until it was too late. I was glad to see there were several other presenters, so mine wasn't needed. Also, you mentioned we could turn in our final project a few days late if it was an emergency — it's an emergency. Can I have a few extra days? Also, I was asked to shamelessly plug the formal my group is sponsoring this weekend. Would you mind letting your classes know? Thanks!

I read that sentence. The one about plugging the formal happening Saturday. The one Helen will be spending all day at instead of working on her project. THE ONE THAT IS APPARENTLY MORE IMPORTANT THAN THE LINGUISTICS CLASS WE ARE PAYING FOR. Oh. My. God.

Where is a fly-filled fly swatter when you need one? More importantly, where is her situational awareness? How can she not register what a terrible, terrible idea this is? I have completely failed as a parent.

Of course I advised her to remove that sentence — and I did it calmly and reasonably. "Plug your event once she's responded." Helen gave me a look. That look that young adults who know everything give their parents. She tapped away, visibly annoyed, and turned her phone back around for me to read. The sentence was now a P.S.

I smiled and told her to hit send.

There are times when parenting is an exercise in both restraint and pettiness. I know it would be cutting off my nose to spite my face if Helen fails this class. But I am really, really hoping this teacher responds that she would be delighted to promote the event — and that she looks forward to seeing Helen's project on Monday, the day it is due.

P.S.  The update P.S.  Oh. My. God!!!  They gave her more time!!  These Professors are far more accommodating than I would be.  Although, she did not find out for sure until yesterday evening.  Thank God, otherwise she wouldn’t be as far along as she is.  She still has a perfectly choreographed two days.  It is like Jenga, if anything goes wrong, all the blocks will fall. Still, she sent me a picture of Professor Hate Troll who she created for her video.  I kind of love that having Time Blindness means you will spend half a day creating your vision, on the day something is due.  Maybe that is why the Prof. gave Helen more time.  You can't help but root for someone with good ideas, even when they are completely entrenched in last minute drama.