When I was in the sixth grade I refused to do homework. Specifically I refused to do homework in English class. I remember it as a task that I felt was meaningless. I just didn’t see the point. I remember that at some point in the school year my parents found out that I wasn’t doing my homework and my grades reflected that small fact. Let us be clear and to the point though. If I was supposed to read a book I read it. If I was supposed to participate in class discussions I did. If I was expected to write a book report on what I read … well that wasn’t going to happen. For a semester it didn’t happen at all. My justification was that, as I understood it, homework was to reiterate and structure the learning process. Homework was intended to reinforce the educational material and assist the learner to apply and retain the material. I didn’t have a problem retaining anything and applying it was not a problem I had.

My parents met with the teacher and discovered what the problem with my grades was. They embarked on a path of forced supervision. It was somewhat painful for me and I think, for them too. I had to do all of my homework every day. As a sixth grader I was expected to bring a list of the homework assignments home. This was a little embarrassing. I had to write the list and the teacher signed the page indicating that the assignments I wrote down were correct. When I got home my parents read my assignment book and watched me sit at the dining room table and do my homework. If my job was completed unsatisfactorily I had the opportunity to redo the assignment. In the beginning I had lots of opportunities to learn from redoing the assignments. I was apparently somewhat passive aggressive about the whole exercise. Eventually I just gave in and did the homework. My parents reviewed the homework and noted with some satisfaction that I had completed the assigned tasks.

The next grading cycle ended and my grades were unchanged. When my parents met with the teacher I was asked to stay outside the classroom and wait. The teacher told my parents that I had not been doing homework. My parents protested. They had watched me. They had checked the homework assignments. They had read every paper. They had ensured that not only was the homework completed but also that I had done a good job at the assignments. They had corrected my work and made me change it. I had actually learned to write pretty well that year.

I was called into the classroom and the situation was explained to me. There was some frustration and curiosity. I was asked what had happened to my homework. I indicated that I had it, that I had brought it all to school and left the room to get it. When I returned from my locker I proceeded to turn in all of my homework. The teacher didn’t grade it and I failed English that year. The school didn’t make me retake the class. I was passed into seventh grade English.

That year I had an issue with Art classes. The teacher from the year before had moved on. There was a substitute teacher for a period of five weeks or more and I really did learn a lot about art and enjoyed the class. When the real teacher finally came to school the two of us didn’t get along. The teacher had worked for museums and curated art collections. I’m am as sure now as I was then that she must have been good at what she did or she wouldn’t have been hired. To my way of thinking she was unqualified. At some point in the middle of class while openly arguing with the teacher, for what was neither the first nor last time, I told her that I wasn’t going to participate in class because she couldn’t teach me anything because she didn’t know anything. I spent a great deal of time in the principle’s office that year. Some of it was deserved. Some of it was not. I think if you balanced the scale of justice I earned most of the trips to the office for one reason or another even if the reasons were not what was reported to the administration. There are times when ill intent should be enough.

Later, in High School, I figured out that to pass my classes with a “B” average for the semester there was a quirk in the school’s math that would allow you to utterly fail two of the three grading periods each semester with an “F” average and still manage to salvage the semester as a whole. I proceeded to test the limits of this quirk and managed to successfully game the system. If you failed two grading cycles and aced the third the average could be a “B”. In the odd case where the math didn’t work out I put a little more effort in. But the short story is that for two-thirds of the grading cycle I did no homework and often didn’t bother to take a test. I often turned them in completely blank or with random answers marked. It turns out that only semester averages were reported on my school transcripts making the entire process pay off.

To top it off I graduated with honors. This was thanks to another small quirk of the system that indicated that to graduate with honors you had to take a certain number of classes in a particular category. The expectation was that if you were college bound you would likely take most, if not all, of the honors curriculum. In reality to get the designation you only had to take a small number of advanced placement classes and average a “B.” I did that, and cherry picked the easiest classes in the list. I wasn’t particularly interested in going to college. I just wanted to show my cohorts that I could get all the same credit they did and not put forth much or any effort.

As graduation day approached I was notified in writing that I had not attended enough school to have my senior year count and that I would have to petition the state education board make a determination as to rather I could actually graduate. It turned out that the state of Texas was not completely on board with my attendance record. Skipping 45% of the classes for the last two semesters of my education was looked upon disfavorably. For this and other reasons it was not clear that I would be able to walk the stage. I did write the petition letter and three months after my senior year I was notified that the state would allow me to graduate. My grades had made the difference. I ended up in the 33rd percentile.

As far as my education went in primary school I did learn. I did learn a lot and not all of it was on paper. Much of it didn’t sink in and become real for me until I actually decided to return to school and go to college. The most important lessons I learned in college could be summed up as:

I was smarter than most of my peers in high school.
I didn’t have to study to learn or remember anything that I read. This was not the typical experience others had.
Learning, understanding, and applying knowledge from a variety of disciplines into a single cohesive thought was natural to me. It wasn’t for others.
I had never learned to study and without a better way to explain the impact of that fact … it turns out that would eventually suck. A lot.
I was not destined to always be the smartest person in the room.

The first three things I learned tutoring others in school. It was a humbling experience. I had trouble understanding why others just didn’t “get it” at first. Eventually I grew to understand that I was the weird one sitting across from the normal people at the table. I learned that we are not all created equal and we shouldn’t judge others by our natural abilities but by how much someone works to achieve something.

The last two points were learned when I got the first taste of failure. I took a Biology major in a program designed for pre-med students. It turns out that, at best, I was only as smart as the others in the program. I took Botany three times before I passed.

I learned defeat when I figured out that there was no way I could study hard enough or learn enough to pass that Botany class the night before the first time I took the final. The second time I took the class I had a hard choice to make. And I didn’t go to the Botany final except to tell the professor I had signed up for her class the next semester. The third time I finally understood the material. What I learned about Botany I learned the first time through the class. What I learned the second time through the class was that there was no substitute for actual knowledge and that there are some things that you cannot fake your way through. That message consisted of the necessary material to pass the course. When four months of instruction are boiled down to five questions that are the final exam you either know the material or you don’t. Knowing the answers to the five questions the professor picked without a semester of studying required as much luck as winning the lottery.

College changed me. It allowed the lessons my parents sought to teach me when I was younger to sink in. It allowed me to shape and define who I was and become my own person. My grade school and high school educators did not fail me and neither had my family growing up. They planted the seeds and waited for them to bare fruit. I have skipped all of the nurturing that authority figures did for me. I haven’t mentioned those that went out of their way to ensure that I never lost sight of the path in life I would eventually opt to follow. I would like to have those that kept me moving in the right direction know that I know I was a pain in the ass. I appreciate and recognize now the grace I was afforded by those that had enough to share with me when I needed it. I could have been on a different path in life if it was not for those people helping shape my life.

I have two young girls and they are smart as a whip. My wife and I have done our best to foster curiosity and learning in their lives. It’s hard to do all the time. I think that most parents want their children to surpass them and achieve more, faster, and with more ease. If we are honest with ourselves we may only hope to live long enough to see them accomplish their dreams, whatever they may be.

Today I asked my kindergartener what she learned in school. Its not often that I have my five year old’s full attention right after school so I was determined to take advantage of it for as long as I could. She answered, “Well, actually nothing.” Most of the time when I ask this the answer is “I don’t remember,” so I was curious and asked why. She explained that today they, “just did things that we have already done before. We didn’t do anything new. Just the same old stuff. We didn’t learn anything. It was boooooring!” I explained that doing the same stuff repeatedly in school is because the school wants them to remember things better. She informed me that she knew the letters they had worked on today just fine that she didn’t need practice. I explained that maybe some of the other kids needed practice. She suggested that she be allowed to do something else while the other kids practiced. We discussed the meaning and purpose of reviewing things. My five year old informed me that the only thing “more boring than reviewing is hearing [me] repeat stuff” to her.

I decided to remind her of an earlier conversation from the weekend where I had told her I didn’t like her saying boring because it was a rude phrase. She let out a big sigh letting me know that this topic also qualified as “boring.” I asked he if she wanted to learn a new word that was not as rude “boring.” She said yes and we discussed, spelled, and learned the word “tedious.” I explained that tedious was a nicer word and that “if something is boring and involves a lot of work” that it is tedious. I explained that I did a lot of tedious work to which she laughed and asked, “That sucks doesn’t it?” As we drove down the road she stared out the window for a while in quiet reflection. When she spoke next she was only half talking to me, “Tedious.” She let the word roll off her tongue and linger there for a moment. “I like that word. Next time I will tell [the teacher] that what she says to do is tedious.”

The only thing I could think in that moment was “OH, SHIT.” This would definitely get both her and I in trouble, both at school and at home. Her at school and me at home. I am glad I can sleep in just about any environment because if she tells the teacher she is tedious between now and parent teacher conferences in two days I am sure it will come up. I am sure that I will get the rich rewards that such a statement from my child rightfully deserves.

If my oldest is acting at five like I was at eleven and twelve, is it a pipe dream to hope that she will also cycle through this headstrong, self indulgent, introspective, PITA phase faster than I did? Is it possible that she will be done and become a model citizen by age nine?

God, help her to find the love and support I had growing up. Help her stay on the path meant for her. Help keep me from killing her, because I think that there will come a day when I might think about it if she is half the troublemaker I was. I think however that both of my kids might be smarter than me. Both of them may turn out to be bigger troublemakers than I dreamed of being … especially when they figure out how to plan things together.

Come to think of it, I never dreamed of being a troublemaker. It just came natural.