Skipping school
I can’t tell you what a RELIEF it is that my 16 year old son knows everything. He’s smarter than his parents, he’s smarter than his friends, but most of all he is smarter than ALL his teachers. This is why he skips class so much. This is why he missed 15 days last semester. It doesn’t make sense for him to sit in class when he already knows more than his teachers.
Honestly, I grow weary of his excuses. He’s such a smart kid; I hate it when he doesn’t show it. But then I stop and remind myself that he comes from a long line of school-skippers.
In the fall of 1955, my dad would have been in the 1st grade. He wasn’t a fan of school from day one. He thought that there had to be better things to do than sit all day and listen to his teachers ramble on. One day, he decided he wouldn’t go. He and his friends had walked to school, and as his friends headed inside, he said “Well, I think I’ll head to California today and mine for gold.” (Side note : he lived in Minnesota). The other kids would shrug their shoulders, walk past the flagpole, and file into their classes. Dad, dressed in his sweet polyester dress pants and ironed white shirt, would head to the woods behind the school and set up shop. He’d put his backpack down, start making some tools with whatever twigs he could find, and start mining. When he heard the bell for lunch, he would sit down on a log and carefully unwrap his bologna and mustard sandwich. He’d chew thoughtfully as he decided where to mine next. Then he would get back to work. When he heard the bell to signal the end of the day, he would pack up his stuff and join his friends on the walk home from school. He would regale his friends with stories about his trip to California and all the interesting people he met along the way.
Of course, today I can go online and see if my son is late for class in real time, but in rural Minnesota in the mid 50’s, my 6 year old dad was able to skip school for a whole week before anyone found out. In fact, he only got caught when the teacher became concerned about little Steve’s health and called my grandparents' neighbor(my dad’s family didn’t have a phone). As you can imagine, Grandpa and Grandma Weber were not impressed and layed down the law that if he skipped school again, he really would have to head out to California.
I wonder if this is why my dad was so relaxed about me skipping school. I grew up in Huntsville Alabama, and we had a triple A baseball team in town, the Huntsville Stars. They were the farm team of the Oakland A’s. Sometimes, my best friend Jeff and I would skip school to head to the 1:15 game, also known as the “businessman’s special” game. Jeff would always have to make up an excuse to leave. But my dad would always write me a note: “Dear Teachers, please excuse Sara at 12:45 today. She has an appointment to attend to. Sincerely, Steve Weber.” I remember him writing these notes and saying “Man, I wish I could go with you guys.”
Jeff and I would pay 6 bucks to get in the game, sit up in the nosebleed seats, usually get sunburned, and spend the afternoon talking and watching baseball. At one of these games, I went to use the bathroom and found my mom on the main floor talking to a police officer. “Mom, what are you doing here?”
“Shoot! You weren’t supposed to find me! I was going to get this cop to go to your seats and tell you guys to get back to school,” she said. My mother, always a prankster, actually left work to do this.
Maybe some people are school people and some people are not. My dad went on to get his Masters in Business Administration and I scraped by in college and got a Bachelors’ Degree. I guess maybe there is hope for my kid after all.