The First Two Days

Two days of school down. One hundred and seventy-eight to go.

The kids kicked off the academic year Thursday with an intense two-day week. Middle and high school students get picked up at the same time on the same buses. Betsy, Mae, and Lucy all boarded their shared yellow chariot at 7:11 a.m.. That left Waffle alone in the house. Her bus didn’t arrive for another hour. It was up to her to lock up the place and get to the right corner on time. Last year, when Lucy was still in fifth grade, she and Waffle could tackle that task together. It was helpful to have some checks and balances in case one of them lost track of time playing Roblox or internet poker. The best card sharks start early. So far, Waffle has managed to get herself onto the bus two days in a row. I can only assume that means she’ll have a perfect record for the rest of the year. We’ve impressed upon her how long she’ll be grounded if she ever misses the bus because she’s on a device. She would effectively be Amish for the rest of her childhood. She plans to get out to the bus stop fifteen minutes early every day. Fear is the ultimate motivator.

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Catching the bus is the easy part. Her real struggle starts when the first bell rings. Due to rezoning, she’s at a new school. We thought a bunch of her friends from her old school would be there, but in her new classroom, it’s just her. Perhaps she was moved for their protection. Waffle is the most adaptable and resilient of all my children. She’ll make friends and then followers. She’ll be class dictator in no time. The process is exhausting. She had a chance to spend the night with her cousin Friday after school. She chose to stay home and recharge instead. Either that or she just wanted to make up for the Roblox time she missed by going out to the bus stop early. She takes my threat of permanent grounding seriously. It’s only a matter of time until she calls my bluff. Then she’ll also be the dictator of our family.

At least Waffle’s new school is fully built. Mae and Lucy are learning in an active construction zone. Work began last year, but it was mostly focused on building new spaces outside the existing walls. Only the cafeteria was closed off. Kids had to eat in the gym, which was awesome. Every good Hoosier wants to eat square pizza while shooting hoops. Now, the renovation has moved into the main part of the building. Hallways are divided in half and sometimes closed. The sixth grade lockers are off limits entirely. One gym has been converted into seventh grade classrooms. The space is divided by temporary ten-foot-high walls with no ceilings, transforming the room into the world’s most depressing cubicles. Spending eight hours a day there is the most effective real-world training they could possibly receive. Those kids will be more than ready for the work force.

Lucy’s biggest complaint so far has been the temperature. She said the new cafeteria feels arctic. That sounds like heaven to me. If I can’t see my breath, the thermostat needs to be turned down a few notches. I told her to take a hoodie in her backpack. She said she didn’t have room. She already has to carry every book she needs for every class since she doesn’t have a locker. I said before that she’ll develop the strength of a pack mule, but that goal was misplaced. I now think it would be better to send her with an actual pack mule as a helper animal. If there’s no rule that says a dog can’t play basketball, there also isn’t one saying you can’t bring a beast of burden in a pinch. I’m sure a mule would do great on the bus rides to and from school. At home, he’d be great friends with the pigs.

Betsy is also in a construction zone, but a less severe one. At the current stage, most of the work is focused on adding new square footage outside the existing structure. Next year, the work will move indoors. It will be there to greet Mae when she moves up to high school. It’s like the slasher in a horror movie or road work in the Midwest. There’s simply no escaping it. The biggest disruption for Betsy is that much of the parking lot is blocked off and covered with construction materials. Actually, that’s more of a disruption for me since I’m the one who has to pick her up and drop her off for after school activities. Betsy still can’t drive, which isn’t her fault but is also entirely her fault. She’s not old enough for a license yet, but she is old enough for a learner’s permit. After an entire summer of not having a job, she managed to finish an underwhelming twenty-eight percent of the online portion of her driver’s ed course. In her defense, she was also taking a different online class that mattered more. Less to her credit, she had many hours a day to take naps. I want her to finish the class so I can start getting her hours on the road. The sooner she can drive, the sooner I can retire from parenting and let her raise herself. She isn’t as eager as I am to hit that milestone. She likes having a personal chauffeur who has to accommodate her every whim. She hasn’t tipped me once, but she has given me some referrals. She’s more than happy to also make me drive around her friends.

With the start of school came the start of sports. Betsy has transitioned from mostly mandatory summer practices to completely mandatory fall ones. Saturday, she had a practice at a nearby state park that included a cookout and parent meeting. All the moms and dads gathered around to hear the rules and expectations from the coach. Cross country is by far the least burdensome sport for spectators. Mostly, the coach and team mom just wanted us to donate money and Gatorade and then stay out of the way. The behavior issues that plague other sports don’t apply to us. While the stands at Little League games might regularly become no-holds-barred brawls, I’ve never seen any parents fight at a cross country meet. It’s due to the cardio. We have to speed walk or even jog slowly to see our kids at various points on the course. We’re too out of breath to fight anyone. I should try the same approach with my kids. If I made them run around the house a few times, they’d be too tired to battle each other. Actually, Betsy would be fine thanks to all her training. It’s probably best not to give her even more of an advantage. Her stranglehold on power is strong enough.

We might only be two days into the school year, but I’ve already signed hundreds of forms. I haven’t read a single word. I assume most of the sheets the girls bring me are about classroom expectations. I doubt the fine print contained too many surprises. It’s always possible I accidentally signed over my house or agreed to fight in a war. I assume the rules covered the basics, like pay attention in class and turn in your homework. It’s a sad statement on the state of the world that every teacher felt the need to put that in writing. There must have been at least one student who claimed they had no idea they were supposed to do the assignments. Like parents, teachers love being ignored and just want to hear themselves talk. So far, only Betsy has had homework. That’s a welcome change from when I was in school. I used to get take-home assignments early and often. Of course, my tablet was made of stone. No wonder my handwriting was so bad.

The technology situation continues to throw me for a loop. As the kids have gotten older, their lists of required school supplies has gotten shorter and shorter. They no longer need crayons, scissors, and colored pencils. They barely needed pens. Everything they do is typed and submitted online. They’re missing out on a critical part of the school experience. When my school finally got paper technology, my penmanship didn’t improve. After doing homework, my hand would hurt because of my death grip on my writing implement. The lack of legibility worked in my favor. Teachers didn’t want to spend weeks deciphering my chicken scratch and instead assigned me a grade at random. It was always higher than I deserved. If you can’t be brilliant, be utterly exhausting. That approach also works to get a wife.

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The first days of school didn’t slow down Mae at all. While Waffle was too tired for a sleepover, Mae went on a campout after the opening two-day week of school. This weekend was the initiation for the secretive Firecrafter organization. She needs to prove her adeptness at starting blazes outdoors and using them to cook without burning down the entire forest. Smokey Bear will be her proctor. As I write this, I’m waiting for her to send me a text to say she’s ready to be picked up. It’s a good thing I got all of our weekend trips out of the way before the start of the school year. That era of our life is now done. With the start of school, weekends belong to the kids and the nine thousand different activities they’ve joined. My only job is to show up and retrieve them if necessary—and to put out any fires if things get out of hand. If Mae did burn down the forest, I bet Smokey could be bribed to look the other way. I have a history with bears. I could hook him up with a nice wedding tuxedo in exchange for overlooking a little arson.

Anyway, that’s all I’ve got for now. Catch you next time.

James

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