A letter to my oldest son, before he starts high school
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Study however you feel comfortable
. For years, your grandparents insisted I do my homework in our home office, on a metal desk and swivel chair built during the Nixon administration. They believed that serious students worked at a desk, and they wanted their daughter to be a serious student. I hated it. I spent more time thinking about how uncomfortable I was than on AP French — but it appeared to them that I was focusing. (I was not. I was on a dial-up AOL chat room with my friend Katie talking to random strangers in Texas.)
Once I hit college and was in control of my own study arrangements, I did my best work sitting on my bed. Since then, I have written hundreds of thousands of words and two books, either on my couch or on my bed. Great for my lower back? Probably not. Good for my own personal productivity? Yup. Work where it works for you.
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Don't fight your natural organizational habits
. I use this term loosely because right now, your organizational strategy appears to be shoving wrinkled papers into your backpack next to rotting bananas. Your suggested list of supplies might include color-coded binders and day planners; the requests will come in for spiral notebooks and file folders. That's all fine, if you use them. But you might not (doubt you will!), and I have zero desire to give Amazon Prime more money.
Find a system that you can stick with, use it, and tune out the noise. Ever seen a doctor's office or a professor's desk? Yeah. You'll be OK.
Don't stay anywhere you feel small: lunch tables, parties, friend groups
. This is hard. The drive to be surrounded — to fit in — is stronger than words. I remember pining to be summoned to a superior lunch table, a rung-and-a-half higher on the cafeteria ladder, and finally snagging a seat only to go completely silent, dead mute, once I set down my tray of nuggets and Famous Amos cookies. I was afraid I wasn't funny (and I was funny; just maybe not to them, because they were not my people). I felt alien in my own body. I couldn't be myself. And when one of the girls started badmouthing a close friend, I joined in — grateful to have something, anything, to say.
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The next day, someone who overheard me wrote a screed in black magic marker (brave!) on my French desk saying what a fraud I was. A fake. A climber. And she was dead right. I still haven't forgotten the date: November 1992, Madame Inman's class.
I remember thinking even then that I'd prefer to be honestly average than falsely cool; I even wrote it in my journal in bubbly cursive, feeling profound. It didn't totally sink in then, of course; I wasn't mature enough to live it. It took me well into adulthood to realize that some people won't see you, ever, and that's their loss.
But being comfortable in your own skin is the only true sanctuary, and when you forfeit that for the sake of blending in, you've got nothing. Don't ever shrink yourself to fit at a lunch table. It might feel safe in the moment, but it will hurt so much more in the long run.
You won't have everything in common with your friends.
And that's OK. If I based my friendships on who had the same exact combination of interests, I'd be a hermit, because I know nobody who loves 'Murder, She Wrote'; 1960s oldies; nachos; NewspaperArchives.com, and Dominick Dunne.
Enjoy the small overlaps; go where you feel seen. And remember: Nobody will be a perfect friend all the time. Look for patterns instead. Do these people usually show up for you? Do they fill a certain need: a person to ride to school with, to play basketball with, to swap inane memes with? I had very little in common besides a sense of humor with my high school friends. But, you know what? I just got back from one of their mom's 80th birthday parties. I'm having dinner with two others next week. Sometimes the bonds that connect you are more about chemistry and shared history than anything else, a sense of familiarity and consistency and goodness, and those bonds really are irreplaceable.
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It's OK not to peak in high school
. Some clichés are true. Life is long. Success takes many forms, and it also takes its own sweet time. You'll see.
The most important lessons you learn in high school aren't measured by grades.
Schoolwork seems like the official barometer of worth because knowledge is most easily measured in numbers, but these metrics don't reflect the lessons that shape who you are. Truly.
Some perspective: I took five AP exams and was named something called an 'AP scholar.' This has had absolutely zero bearing on my life. In fact, I can no longer speak French. The one and only thing I remember from World History is that there are three types of Roman columns (ionic, doric, and Corinthian). I will never again read 'Beowulf.' In fact, I barely read it the first time.
I missed the 3.5 National Honor Society cutoff by .02 points because of a bad math grade. Nobody has ever asked me, anywhere ever, whether I was in the National Honor Society.
Speaking of math: I dropped out in 12th grade. I am still a productive member of society. My iPhone has a calculator, and that's good enough for me.
Here's what I do remember: Mr. Seymour, who nicknamed me Sassy Baskin and encouraged me to do stand-up for Speech and Debate; the columns I wrote for the school paper making fun of the rancid cheese at the semi-formal; and the feeling of getting behind the wheel of my parents' Ford Taurus as a newly minted driver and realizing for the first time — soundtracked by WZLX 100.7 — that the world really was bigger than Acton, Massachusetts. (There was Concord, too!) Point being: Life experiences, real memories, don't get a letter grade.
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A big world exists outside your phone.
I know you're mad that I'm not letting you have screens during the week, but someday, when you know how to have a coherent conversation and think critically, you'll thank me.
Don't take it personally when I yell at you.
Oh, and I will. I will surely get mad if you flake out on your homework or have 10 missing assignments in PowerSchool. This is because I'm only human, too, and I want you to do well, to work hard, all the things that any parent wants for their kid. I want what's best for you, and this might make me sometimes act poorly and lose perspective. I'm still learning, too. I apologize in advance. (But seriously: Please do not have 10 missing assignments in PowerSchool.)
Treat your teachers with respect.
You have no idea how hard this job is. You are not entitled to delicate treatment because you're having a bad day; you don't get an extension because you forgot your day planner. You are special to me, but you are not special. Be kind. Be polite. Be respectful. Non-negotiable.
Nothing is worth your mental health.
Absolutely nothing. Take it from someone who learned this the very hardest way — in emergency rooms and therapists' offices. Too much homework? Too much stress? When you're healthy, you have lots of problems. If you're sick, you have one: getting better. So please: The minute you feel like it's all too much, if you're hopeless or stressed to the point of sickness, if you feel like nothing will ever get better because your problems at this moment are insurmountable, take those worries and give them to your parents. We may not know how to edit videos on TikTok. (You do edit videos on TikTok, right?) We do not know what the hell '67' means.
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But we also have been through high school and lived to tell the tale. You will come out the other side, hopefully with lifelong friends, arcane trivia, and memories to sustain you — but most of all, a sense of self and the knowledge that you have flawed parents who will annoy you and badger you but who always love you and see you.
Now shut off the video games and do your summer reading.
Kara Baskin can be reached at
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A letter to my oldest son, before he starts high school
You will begin high school, you lucky boy. And so, instead of cornering you in the car on the way to basketball, I thought I'd write down my advice. For those of you with kids beginning a new school, a new job, a new chapter in life, maybe you can relate (and have something to add). Get Starting Point A guide through the most important stories of the morning, delivered Monday through Friday. Enter Email Sign Up Here goes. Advertisement Sign up for Parenting Unfiltered. Globe staff Study however you feel comfortable . For years, your grandparents insisted I do my homework in our home office, on a metal desk and swivel chair built during the Nixon administration. They believed that serious students worked at a desk, and they wanted their daughter to be a serious student. I hated it. I spent more time thinking about how uncomfortable I was than on AP French — but it appeared to them that I was focusing. (I was not. I was on a dial-up AOL chat room with my friend Katie talking to random strangers in Texas.) Once I hit college and was in control of my own study arrangements, I did my best work sitting on my bed. Since then, I have written hundreds of thousands of words and two books, either on my couch or on my bed. Great for my lower back? Probably not. Good for my own personal productivity? Yup. Work where it works for you. Advertisement Don't fight your natural organizational habits . I use this term loosely because right now, your organizational strategy appears to be shoving wrinkled papers into your backpack next to rotting bananas. Your suggested list of supplies might include color-coded binders and day planners; the requests will come in for spiral notebooks and file folders. That's all fine, if you use them. But you might not (doubt you will!), and I have zero desire to give Amazon Prime more money. Find a system that you can stick with, use it, and tune out the noise. Ever seen a doctor's office or a professor's desk? Yeah. You'll be OK. Don't stay anywhere you feel small: lunch tables, parties, friend groups . This is hard. The drive to be surrounded — to fit in — is stronger than words. I remember pining to be summoned to a superior lunch table, a rung-and-a-half higher on the cafeteria ladder, and finally snagging a seat only to go completely silent, dead mute, once I set down my tray of nuggets and Famous Amos cookies. I was afraid I wasn't funny (and I was funny; just maybe not to them, because they were not my people). I felt alien in my own body. I couldn't be myself. And when one of the girls started badmouthing a close friend, I joined in — grateful to have something, anything, to say. Advertisement The next day, someone who overheard me wrote a screed in black magic marker (brave!) on my French desk saying what a fraud I was. A fake. A climber. And she was dead right. I still haven't forgotten the date: November 1992, Madame Inman's class. I remember thinking even then that I'd prefer to be honestly average than falsely cool; I even wrote it in my journal in bubbly cursive, feeling profound. It didn't totally sink in then, of course; I wasn't mature enough to live it. It took me well into adulthood to realize that some people won't see you, ever, and that's their loss. But being comfortable in your own skin is the only true sanctuary, and when you forfeit that for the sake of blending in, you've got nothing. Don't ever shrink yourself to fit at a lunch table. It might feel safe in the moment, but it will hurt so much more in the long run. You won't have everything in common with your friends. And that's OK. If I based my friendships on who had the same exact combination of interests, I'd be a hermit, because I know nobody who loves 'Murder, She Wrote'; 1960s oldies; nachos; and Dominick Dunne. Enjoy the small overlaps; go where you feel seen. And remember: Nobody will be a perfect friend all the time. Look for patterns instead. Do these people usually show up for you? Do they fill a certain need: a person to ride to school with, to play basketball with, to swap inane memes with? I had very little in common besides a sense of humor with my high school friends. But, you know what? I just got back from one of their mom's 80th birthday parties. I'm having dinner with two others next week. Sometimes the bonds that connect you are more about chemistry and shared history than anything else, a sense of familiarity and consistency and goodness, and those bonds really are irreplaceable. Advertisement It's OK not to peak in high school . Some clichés are true. Life is long. Success takes many forms, and it also takes its own sweet time. You'll see. The most important lessons you learn in high school aren't measured by grades. Schoolwork seems like the official barometer of worth because knowledge is most easily measured in numbers, but these metrics don't reflect the lessons that shape who you are. Truly. Some perspective: I took five AP exams and was named something called an 'AP scholar.' This has had absolutely zero bearing on my life. In fact, I can no longer speak French. The one and only thing I remember from World History is that there are three types of Roman columns (ionic, doric, and Corinthian). I will never again read 'Beowulf.' In fact, I barely read it the first time. I missed the 3.5 National Honor Society cutoff by .02 points because of a bad math grade. Nobody has ever asked me, anywhere ever, whether I was in the National Honor Society. Speaking of math: I dropped out in 12th grade. I am still a productive member of society. My iPhone has a calculator, and that's good enough for me. Here's what I do remember: Mr. Seymour, who nicknamed me Sassy Baskin and encouraged me to do stand-up for Speech and Debate; the columns I wrote for the school paper making fun of the rancid cheese at the semi-formal; and the feeling of getting behind the wheel of my parents' Ford Taurus as a newly minted driver and realizing for the first time — soundtracked by WZLX 100.7 — that the world really was bigger than Acton, Massachusetts. (There was Concord, too!) Point being: Life experiences, real memories, don't get a letter grade. Advertisement A big world exists outside your phone. I know you're mad that I'm not letting you have screens during the week, but someday, when you know how to have a coherent conversation and think critically, you'll thank me. Don't take it personally when I yell at you. Oh, and I will. I will surely get mad if you flake out on your homework or have 10 missing assignments in PowerSchool. This is because I'm only human, too, and I want you to do well, to work hard, all the things that any parent wants for their kid. I want what's best for you, and this might make me sometimes act poorly and lose perspective. I'm still learning, too. I apologize in advance. (But seriously: Please do not have 10 missing assignments in PowerSchool.) Treat your teachers with respect. You have no idea how hard this job is. You are not entitled to delicate treatment because you're having a bad day; you don't get an extension because you forgot your day planner. You are special to me, but you are not special. Be kind. Be polite. Be respectful. Non-negotiable. Nothing is worth your mental health. Absolutely nothing. Take it from someone who learned this the very hardest way — in emergency rooms and therapists' offices. Too much homework? Too much stress? When you're healthy, you have lots of problems. If you're sick, you have one: getting better. So please: The minute you feel like it's all too much, if you're hopeless or stressed to the point of sickness, if you feel like nothing will ever get better because your problems at this moment are insurmountable, take those worries and give them to your parents. We may not know how to edit videos on TikTok. (You do edit videos on TikTok, right?) We do not know what the hell '67' means. Advertisement But we also have been through high school and lived to tell the tale. You will come out the other side, hopefully with lifelong friends, arcane trivia, and memories to sustain you — but most of all, a sense of self and the knowledge that you have flawed parents who will annoy you and badger you but who always love you and see you. Now shut off the video games and do your summer reading. Kara Baskin can be reached at
