The Summer Session

My only experience with summer school was a US Government class in ’92. I remember the year because it was an election year and we discussed the candidates ad nauseum and because I was on academic probation needing an A to keep my scholarship. That summer session was stressful and intense.

Although our school system runs formally for nine months of the year, students still learn when they aren’t enrolled in a summer session. So do I.

A few days ago, my friend, her two young sons, and our dogs went to ISU’s Bartz Field to enjoy the setting sun and let the kids and canines run.  The boys bickered and played. The dogs bickered and played, and it was a picturesque scene of summer bliss.

When all energies were amply drained, we loaded the drooling parties into the truck bed and got the boys situated in the back seat. The youngest uses a booster car seat and it takes him longer to buckle. I always pull away before his seatbelt clicks and his mom always reminds me to wait. I need to remember that things take longer with kids. I learn it over and over.

It took him a few tries that night, but by golly I waited before hitting the gas. When I heard the click, I hit it. And then BAM! I slammed right into one of the boulders lining Bartz field. With the shock of the impact, I started swearing up a blue streak.

My parents were good at cursing. I learned that it was something suitable for adults only and should be used sparingly and appropriately. This seemed like an appropriate time.

I got out to assess the damage and could hear the boys in the back seat antsy to see. I realized their mom wanted to throw herself between her sons and my rage, so I took a deep breath and said, “It’s fine. I’m fine. They can get out.”

They were more enamored with the swarm of ants under the dislodged boulder and wanted me to “look, look, look!” So, I quit looking at my dented, soon-to-be old bumper and crouched with them by the ants until they were ready to leave.

Thankfully, the truck was drivable, and as we drove down the hill and into the sunset, I told the boys I was sorry if I scared them. The eight year old said, “Yeah. You did. The crash scared me but your swearing was even scarier because you don’t usually behave like that.” Ouch.

I learned that swearing really upsets this kid so when I got the bill, I swore privately. I hope he learned not only that I sometimes swear but that apologizing is possible and important and that I care about his feelings.  What will you and the kids in your lives learn from each other this summer session?