Extra Credit

 

My son Nick’s snowboard trail to a college diploma was a winding one. He started off at Colorado Mountain College at Steamboat Springs with a K2 Eldorado snowboard and the best of intentions.

He had chosen this school based on its proximity to some kick-ass terrain, the availability of a ski and snowboarding business program major, and the fact that the words “Ski Team” took precedence over the words “Class Schedule” on its home page.

And things were going pretty damn double black diamond until he hit a gnarly mogul.

Imagine Nick’s surprise when he awoke one morning to find that his entire dorm floor had been hauled off in the middle of the night in a DEA drug bust.  He was the only one left.

Really.

He found the quiet deafening.  And soon a new lesson plan was in place.

He came back home to Mike and me and did some time at CMC down valley in Glenwood Springs.  I loved having him there but soon the lure of the bright lights blonde girlfriend became too much for him.  And so he decided to apply to the U. of Colorado, Boulder-style.

A successful transplant would require very good grades and a rockin’ essay.  And since Nick’s app would be one of thousands to stream across the admissions director’s desk, it had to stand out.

Nick really wanted to go to Boulder.  He had his heart set on it.  He had worked hard. His grades were stellar.  But he knew that the essay would have to be great.  And memorable.

Paging you-know-who to the rescue.  (And don’t be too hard on him.  If I was your mother and you wanted something written- I mean collaborated on- wouldn’t you turn to me in your hour of need? Hell, I am Essays”R”Us.)

And I had the perfect idea for a standout.  One sure to get noticed among all those thousands of “How I rescued an old man skier from a tree well last winter” or “How I built huts for poor, indigenous peoples on my Spring Vacay” contenders.

Nick’s essay topic was “How I woke up one morning to find that my entire dorm floor at CMC Steamboat had been hauled away by the DEA in a drug bust.”

Needless to say, the acceptance letter flew into our mailbox.  And Nick flew off to Bouder.

Where he remained happily for several years.  His then girlfriend, Gina, was already there, majoring in Woman’s Studies and how to be a babe.  (Not as mutually exclusive as one might think.)

And he was happy.  He worked hard during the school week, and they both came home to me- almost every weekend- to board hard.  Win win all around.

And soon, before you could say “unemployment,” it became time for Nick to think about the C word. Commencement.  (Gina had already taken the plunge and was hanging in Boulder waiting for him to catch up.)

To that end, Nick started meeting well in advance of graduation with his advisor.  The two of them would huddle, confab, and Nick would emerge from each meeting with the golden number.  The exact amount of credits that he would need to graduate.

Over the course of the next few semesters, Nick became obsessed with this guy and this number.  But there was one slight hitch.

Every few months this advisor would call Nick in and explain that due to unforeseen circumstances, (an untransferable credit from CMC Steamboat or something) he had made a miscalculation and there was going to be a new magic number.

And this happened again and again.

Just as Nick was sure he had reached the magic number and his release date was near, the advisor would call and announce that he would have to put his plans to “walk” in graduation off for a another semester or two.

Nick would then take more of his advisor’s recommended courses, and kept rolling up the credits.  But every time he thought he saw the cap and gown at the end of the tunnel, faster than you could  say “Pomp and Circumstance,” Mr. Bad News would call Nick in and deliver the coup de gråce.

“Three more credits, Nick.  That’s all you need.  Just three more.”

And Nick would fall for it every time.

Don’t get me wrong.  It wasn’t hard duty.  In between taking classes and obsessively adding up his graduation course credit requirement number over and over, Nick’s life was swell.

He was young and having a blast in Boulder.  What could be so terrible?

Except this advisor had started to become Nick’s nemesis and bete noire.

I hate to be redundant but virtually every time Nick went in to see him with his recalculated magic number, the guy would turn around and give him the “just three more credits to go” spiel.

Nick was, by this time, wild with paranoid conspiracy theories.  He was convinced that there was an University of Colorado plot to keep him in school- and paying.

“They do it for the money,” he said darkly.  “They want to gouge the rich parents for all they can get.  NO ONE graduates in four years any more.  It’s not in the the school’s best financial interest.”

It actually sounded not only plausible but reasonable to me.  I bought into it.

But at long last graduation day did dawn and Nick did walk.  Cheered on by Gina, Mike, my father and my brother Kenny.

Our celebration weekend was great and then it was over.  We all went back home.  Nick went on to look for a job in Boulder.

A couple of months went by and then one day, in the mail, there it was.  A beautiful diploma.  It was gorgeous- and it meant a lot to Nick and me.

I couldn’t wait to tell him the news.  But as I reached for the telephone, I was overcome by the strongest impulse.  I can not explain it.  I love my son.  I am not a sadist.  But I  simply couldn’t resist it.  It was just too delicious to pass up.

“Hey, Nick.  It’s Mom, sweetie,” I chirped.

“Hey, Dude, what’s up?” he replied sleepily from his end.

“Well, I’ve got something to tell you and I don’t quite know how to put this.  Um.  I got a letter here from your advisor in Boulder and he says that there has been a mistake and he has made another calculation and you’re still three credits shy.”

Silence.  Silence.  I held the receiver away from my ear.

“WHAT??!!!  WHAT??!!!”  A primal scream was unleashed from Nick’s bowels.  “WHAT??!!!  THREE CREDITS SHY??!! AGAIN?!!  I COUNTED AND COUNTED!!!  IT’S A PLOT!!  I’M GOING TO SUE THEM! !! I’M NOT GOING BACK!!  I WALKED IN THE FUCKING GRADUATION!!  I HAD A ROBE!!! THEY CAN’T DO THIS TO ME…”

At this point the mother in me overtook the prankster.

“Nick, I was only kidding.  I called to tell you your diploma came today.  I’m looking at it.”

Silence.  Silence.

“Are you sure it’s got my name on it?”

“Yes, sweetie.  It’s official.  You graduated.  Do you want me to send it to you?”

“No, Dude.  You keep it with you.  For safekeeping.”

“Hey, Nick,” I added.  “You’re not mad at me, are you?  I just couldn’t help myself.  It was just too good to resist.”

“No, Dude.  I dig it.  And it was pretty funny.  Nice one.”  And he hung up.

That’s my boy.  No grudges, sweet-natured, forgiving, with a great sense of humor- even if the joke is on him.

I sent him the diploma a couple of years ago after all.

But it’s still with me- in my heart.

For safekeeping.