We got this call from an old friend in the Valley where we used to live, asking if we know of anyone who might help a 15-year-old student find a place to live. He was accepted at, and had already done a year at a STEM magnet school, here in Portland, Maine, and needed some new digs. He and his mom would be traveling to Maine to pick up his gear for the summer and I suggested we have them to dinner to meet the student and find out what’s up.
He shows up well mannered and interesting, and his mom is the last of the red-hot hippies, who is happy to see her son move on from the rather limited options her rural setting provides. Twenty minutes into the meal and my wife, Carrie, and I caucus in the kitchen and agree we will be his host for the year. I warn them that we yell at the TV, we oppose most school curricula, and we are not going to tolerate the latent, 15-year-old, glandular hormonal release we experienced with our own kid.
We are three weeks in and pleased to report “so far so good.” We are tiptoeing around where the private spaces begin and end, and, so far, nary an issue. It’s good to have a young man around the house and I hope he is benefitting from a broader perspective on what his options might be.
We’ll keep you posted on the progress of this reality check.