Ever since Joshua departed for Virginia, we've stayed in nearly daily contact by telephone as well as by various Internet messaging systems. He remains a tangle of contraries. Before the events of September 11, he had planned to travel to D.C. to join Amnesty International in a demonstration there (the event was canceled), yet he wouldn't mind working for the CIA and has applied for an internship with them. While most college students might rejoice, he was perturbed when one of his classes was canceled for two sessions because of an anthrax threat (a false alarm) in the building.

And he knows so much and so little. A few weeks ago, a girl friend he grew up with here in town (who is now a student downriver at KU) flew from Kansas City to Virginia to spend a long weekend with him. The day before her scheduled flight back to Kansas, she spent much of the day either weepy or weeping, Joshua tells us. Since her return to Kansas, she has written him more than one fifteen-page missive.

"Typed or handwritten?"

"Typed."

"Double spaced?"

"Single. What's with that?"

Oh, my poor, clueless golden boy.

Owen's first-quarter grade card arrived Saturday along with the results of the Stanford Achievement Tests taken last spring. Let it suffice to say that the grade card did not reflect the abilities (all but one � but a significant one � in the 90th percentile or higher) measured by the Stanford tests.

When the GPA for the quarter is 3.0 only because of A's in PE, choir, and band, a young man in this household might properly anticipate that his life might soon become less "stylish," particularly when the lone score well out of the 90th percentile range on the Stanford Test is for a unit called "Study Skills" � 30th percentile.

And although he might claim that he suffers from middle-child syndrome, the fact that he's sandwiched tightly here between news of Josh and Taylor hardly reflects the influence of his sassy exuberance on this household.

On an up note, he has taken to playing an old Fender guitar that Josh left behind with a small amp. In the few weeks that he has been playing, he has demonstrated a very good aptitude � and with no lessons yet. Maybe we should encourage him to become David Lee Roth (I can see him doing a reprise of the "Jump" video in about ten years) and forget the science, the social studies, and the English.

Not likely.

What can I say about Taylor that I haven't already said a hundred times? There are few humans that I admire as much as I admire him. I don't need his talents and virtues confirmed; nonetheless, I enjoyed learning that his fifth grade teacher (Mr. G, the first male teacher he's had in elementary school) did just that.

Before the parent-teacher meeting last Thursday, Taylor had sent a note telling us that he'd received 4's (the maximum score) in 53 evaluated areas, and a 3 in the remaining area.

Here are paraphrases of Mr. G's comments that indicate the general tone of the visit (unembellished � really!):

• Heck, I didn't know there were 54 items!
• There's no question I can ask in class that he cannot answer, but he knows when to defer to his classmates so that they get an opportunity to participate.
• His vocabulary is extensive and precise. He will initially answer using that vocabulary, but he will then rephrase his answers so that some of his other classmates will understand. He always brings the class along with him.
• He is a leader inside the classroom and on the playground. When I get a new student in the class, I pair that student with Taylor for a few days, and that student always gets off to a good start.
• Earlier in the semester, when the gifted-student teacher was evaluating Taylor's prospectus for his enrichment project (something to do with depth and pressure charts), the teacher, who is herself a certified scuba diver, was leery of the project until she visited him enough to realize that his qualifications were as good as her own.
• He's nearly perfect, walks on water, etc. (okay, that's embellishment).

Enough for now, eh.

Reading:
The Year of Reading Proust: A Memoir in Real Time, Phyllis Rose

Watching:
Surviving Picasso (Saturday)