Life Lessons and Homework

Status Update:  Patti Smith Minglin knows very little about John Hancock. 

“What do you know about John Hancock?” My son asks.  Honestly, I know more about the John Hancock building in downtown Chicago than I do the man behind the name.  But how do you tell that to a fifth grade boy who not only struggles to get his homework done, but often forgets to turn it in?  I mutter something about his signature being the first one on the Declaration of Independence and encourage him to do his own online research.  “After all,” I say, “You are in the fifth grade now—you need to figure these things out on your own.”  Which is parent code for:  I have no idea what the answer is to your very hard question.

There comes a time during everyone’s educational career when a wise teacher or parent says, “You need to know this information—you will use it someday when you are an adult.”  I had no idea that the reason I needed to keep John Hancock lifestyle information—along with how to divide mixed fractions and conjugate French sentences—was to ensure I would be of some actual help on school homework nights.  I always thought the very fact I avoided going into a career in politics, finance or foreign language translation meant that I could move that information out of my brain—making way for new and exciting information such as how many kids Angelina and Brad now have. 

As my mind wanders to thoughts of enjoying a drink on the 95^th floor of the Hancock (I told you my base of information was firmly set in the building—not the man), my youngest son comes walking through the family room yelling, “P-I-G, pig.  D-O-G, dog.  2+3=5.  3+3=6.”  It is as if he is having a mind-dump of all the things he learned at school this week.  There isn’t really any rhyme or reason to his dialogue, just a constant stream of kindergarten knowledge that he is exceptionally proud to display.  “Mom, why can’t I swim?”  This is the brilliance of Jack—he seemingly transitions from one subject to the next without any stop in his flow of consciousness. 

“Well,” I begin.  “You have been busy playing other sports.  Do you want to take swimming lessons?” 

“No,” says Jack. 

“Then, how do you expect to learn to swim?”

“I just want it to happen—can’t I just ‘think’ it to come true?”

“That’s not how life works, Jack.  You can’t just ‘think’ things to come true, you have to work to make them happen.” 

“Oh.”  He says as he continues to walk through the house spouting off this week’s spelling words and math lessons.  I have apparently broken the spirit of a kindergartner by revealing one of those great awful lessons of life—things just don’t happen because you want them to.  Soon to be followed by the next great lesson—sometimes things don’t happen even when you work really hard to get them.  I think I’ll save that for the fifth grader who has reemerged from the basement with a list of accomplishments and facts about John Hancock. 

“Mom, what do you know about Thomas Paine?”  I have hit the wall with my learning capabilities and am certain that I can no longer parent—at least parent academically—past the fourth grade.  Let’s face it, even fourth grade was a challenge.