We are about to launch Summer Break 2008 into the memory books. In years past, my annual back-to-school column has included the sighs of relief, the tear in my eye and the sound of angels singing. This year I stand proudly by as my son enters seventh grade and re-engages back into the routine of school.

I have noticed some maturing on Alex's part and while I miss the little boy, I embrace the self-sufficient person that Alex is becoming. Like his father, he is an excellent breakfast cook and I know that as long as chickens lay eggs, my son with have something to eat. He has perfected his own type of egg sandwich that will be featured in our father-son restaurant called Good Morning, Potocko. Look for it in 10 years. And before I forget, Alex says "Hi." I think he's attempting to drum up future business for the restaurant.

As I say goodbye to summer and turn my attention toward the school year, I applaud the independence that Alex has achieved in regard to completing his homework. I duly note that my services are rarely needed.

One of my parental responsibilities was to sit with my then elementary-aged child while he did his homework. We struggled sometime around third grade when Alex would get angry with me for not providing him with the answers. He got angry and I did not. I am familiar with inappropriate anger during homework and learned at a very young age that anger and homework are not a helpful or healthy combination. Walk with me down memory lane.

My dad is a physicist. As a child I would turn to him for help with math. If I did not understand right away he would get angry with me, slam his fist on the kitchen table and call me stupid. Those were some fun times, let me tell you.

I can distinctly recall turning to him to help me with a geometry theorem. I wrote down the answer, as he explained and pontificated. When I put the lengthy answer on the chalkboard at school the next day, the teacher told me it was wrong. I had a moment of realization that whatever "teaching" was going on at home, I was not "learning" a thing. I stopped asking my dad for help in math.

Ever since Alex was very young, my dad has always challenged him mathematically and scientifically. Whenever my parents visit, my dad always pulls out an index card and a pen from his pocket and starts doing math problems with Alex. It is something they both enjoy doing together.

This summer my parents spent some extra time with Alex. I am not sure who enjoyed this more; Alex or my parents. In addition to being close with my dad, Alex is extremely close with my mom.

While she denies this vehemently, Alex's second word was Nana. His first word was Dada. They have a special bond and there have been many an occasion when I will call my mom to tell her something only to learn that Alex has already told her. Alex will say two words to me on the telephone and will talk with my mom for an hour.

A few days after a visit from my folks, Alex recounted a story. While doing math with my dad, Alex did not understand something. My dad told Alex that he used to get angry with me when I was a child, slam his fist on the table and call me dumb. He then returned to quietly helping Alex. I was not surprised that my father did not get angry with Alex. He knows better. What did surprise me was my father's admission of something he had always denied.

Although he did not tell me directly, he told my child knowing that Alex would pass that story along. It was freeing to hear that and I felt peace surrounding those turbulent times.

The real joy came when I acknowledged my own parenting. When my own son did not understand a concept or a homework assignment, I never once raised my voice or shamed him. I can now replace my own childhood memory with this new one. That makes for a much nicer walk down memory lane.

E-mail Michelle Potocko at theconsciousmother@gmail.com.

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