Younger spent his last day of Christmas vacation hoping for snow.
He’s always hoped for snow.
Or fire, earthquake, or volcano eruption.
Even in 2008 when he was in the second grade…
Younger does not like school. He doesn’t understand why he has to go for five days a week. He doesn’t understand why he has to go for nine months out of the year. He doesn’t understand why the inventor of school ever had a reason to torture innocent, little children. And he wants to know who he was, this Machiavellian scroundel who thought to force little boys into chairs and bore them by repeating information they already have.
Because Younger already knows it all.
“I’m not learning anything,” he announced from the back seat of the truck, one fine Monday morning.
I choked on a laugh. “Younger…”
“Well, I’m not. You think I am. But I’m not.”
“You are learning something,” I told him, cheerfully. “You’re learning to sit quietly even when you are bored.”
He mumbled something, which I pretended not to hear, and the conversation was dropped for a day or two, until a Sunday night when Isaiah realized that apparently snow was not going to save him from school the next day.
“And they’re wrong, just wrong,” he concluded after a magnificent tirade. “They think they’re right. But they’re wrong.”
“They say it’s a fun place to learn,” he said, emphasizing his ire with a stomp of his foot. “But I ain’t learning anything. AND IT AIN’T FUN!”
And apparently he has to say a pledge to the school with those exact words, which he finds morally reprehensible. They shouldn’t make you say it, he has advocated, if you don’t mean it.
And he doesn’t mean it.
And now even I am counting down the days left of school…