Parental Pearl Harbor

Desctibe something you learned in high school

Sunday nights during the school year were a pain. It was the end of my 48-hour pass with another week of drudgery coming up. My books had to be laid out on the kitchen counter, teeth brushed and water-picked, in bed, lights out by 10:30pm.

But during summer, it was different story. The weekend routine of ehh… 11:30pm, think I’ll see what reruns are on … extended gloriously to the entire week.

So one Sunday night during the summer break, I ate hurriedly. I heard the other kids were getting up a game of flashlight tag. However, this plan was about to be torpedoed in the most diabolical attack ever sprung on a kid.

As I reached across the table for the water pitcher, mom cleared her throat.

“Now, Dar,” she said. “I want you in bed tonight by 10:30.”

What? I racked my brain. No orthodontist or doctor appointments. Way too early for back to school shopping. Nothing going on at church.

“Why?” I finally asked.

“Well,” she said with a smile, “I’ve got a surprise for you.” She looked at Pop, who was eating his meatloaf. He looked me in a way I didn’t see too often.

“I’ve enrolled you in summer school,” she said. She was smiling.

My stomach dropped. “What?” I was aghast. “I got all As and Bs on my last report card. I don’t need to go to summer school.” It must be a mistake. She must be kidding.

During summer vacation, she sometimes had a vaguely irritated expression as I sprawled on the couch, eating twinkies and drinking chocolate milk. As I worked on my mini bike in the garage, she’d give me an annoyed look as she carried a load of laundry to hang out. I think she somehow resented me having three months just to goof off.

“Well,” she continued, “I’ve enrolled you in Algebra 2. This way, you’ll be able to skip it your sophomore year and move right into geometry.” She was almost beaming. Doug, across the table, looked at me and shook his head sadly.

I was still trying to process it. “When does it start? How long is it?”

“It starts at 8:00am and goes to noon. It’s six weeks.”

Six weeks! The heart of my summer was shot. I got angry.

“Look, this isn’t fair!” I said. “This is my summer break. I don’t wanna go to stupid summer school! I wanna relax and hang out with the other kids.”

Her smile turned to a frown. “This will be a much better use of your time than laying on the couch doing nothing but watching TV all summer.” I knew it!

I looked at Pop. His expression said it all.

When the alarm went off the next morning at 6:30am, I was briefly confused. Why did I need an alarm during summer vacation? Then it hit me. Oh…yeah.

I had a quick breakfast of oatmeal with Pop, then we sat in his VW with big band stuff playing. He sipped contentedly at his coffee. I ground my teeth at the unfairness of the whole thing. What the fudge.

We pulled in front of the school about 7:15am. “OK, he said. “I’m off to work. Mom will pick you up at noon. Good luck.” I thought I saw for an instant sorrow, empathy… I’m sorry, I know this sucks…but I might have been mistaken.

He pulled away with the characteristic VW engine sound and Moonlight Becomes You playing. There was no one else around, so I sat on a concrete bench.

About 30 minutes later, the dean appeared and unlocked the door. Kids started appearing and I recognized some of them. They were the troublemakers, the kids who were constantly being sent to detention, the kids who skipped class.

I found the Algebra 2 room and at about 7:55 am, my math teacher Mr. Schiener walked in with his suitcase. He did a double take when he saw me. Didn’t I pass him?

He briefly outlined the process. Because we’d be squeezing an entire year into six weeks, we were going to be moving quickly. There would be daily quizzes, weekly exams, a midterm at three weeks and a final at the end. Everybody groaned and I thought very uncharitable thoughts about mom.

Mr. Schiener dove right into things. The chalk on the blackboard made a clacking sound as he filled it with long equations. I looked around. The other kids were either slouched in their chairs in boredom, whispering, or passing notes.

The days passed in a blur. Up at 6:30am, big band and/or news, waiting half an hour for the dean to unlock the door. Four hours of polynomials, logarithms, inequalities, functions at dizzying speed. Wait, what?

Home by 12:30, the afternoon shot doing homework and preparing for the next day’s quiz. The phone ringing, mom answering, telling my friends sorry, Darryl can’t go bowling with you, he’s studying. Nope, no Marco Polo. No working on the tree house, sorry.

It was ridiculous. If you had already spent a year in Algebra 2 and the summer session was to help you shore up some weak points, that was one thing. But to dive in new, and try to digest everything for the first time in 1/6 the time was brutal. I finished with a C.

That night at dinner, mom and pop discussed it as though I wasn’t there. As I twirled my spaghetti, mom spoke.

“He got a C. I don’t know, honey, I was hoping for a higher grade. What do you think?”

Pop mopped up his spaghetti sauce with a piece of garlic bread. He spoke without looking up. “Yeah,” he said. “You really need to have a strong competency in it to do well in geometry and then calculus.” Pop had graduated from engineering college with a 4.0.

“I think he might be better off repeating it this coming year. What do you think?”

I looked across the table at Doug, incredulous. He spoke up. “Mom,” he said. “He wast— spent his whole summer break on this. I think he’ll do OK.” For his effort, he got a look: butt out mister. He looked me and shrugged.

So it was decided that I would indeed repeat Algebra 2 in the Fall. An entire summer shot to pieces with nothing to show for it but a sore butt and bad posture from hunching over a desk all day for six weeks, solving equations.

But it taught me a valuable lesson. I adopted Doug’s method of flying under the radar. Never let them see you laying around. Do your chores early, leave a note…chores done, be home for dinner, love ya…and be gone by the time they woke up. Beg forgiveness rather than ask permission.

And I did thoroughly master the intricacies and sublime majesty of the hated Algebra 2.

Which I never used….once…in my own engineering career. 🫤