Photo by Al Batt
July 4 had come and gone. There had been fireworks galore, and he still had most of his eyebrows.
It had been a splendid summer.
He’d never heard of L. P. Hartley, but Hartley had said, “The past is a foreign country; they do things differently there.”
But one thing remained constant. When summer ends, school begins.
On a lifelong journey of self-discovery, he was in junior high.
All the teachers loved him, except those who didn’t.
His name was Arnold. It still is. Arnold wasn’t a rare name.
Being in junior high can be stressful. His mother expected all A’s. His father wanted no F’s. He tried to find a happy medium, but that displeased his mother and all his teachers.
He tried to get along with all of them, but it was impossible.
To make matters worse, people compared him to his older cousin, class valedictorian and star quarterback Ralph.
He winced whenever he heard, “Why can’t you be more like Ralph?”
That made him feel as if the Beatles had just finished a concert, and the emcee said, “And that’s not all. We have a special treat for you. Here’s Arnold playing ‘Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star’ on his flutophone.”
He didn’t want to be like Ralph, the pompous blowhard.
Arnold was active in the church, where he was a squirmer. He once cleaned the erasers for his second-grade teacher.
Where had all that gotten him? Nowhere, that’s where. He’d never become Zamfir, Master of the Pan Flute, or Elmer Fudd.
He was concerned about declining math scores. Particularly his own. He wasn’t a poster child for studying diligently or for completing his homework on time (or at any time). Arnold knew the problem was that he wasn’t an inspired student. Sometimes, a problem can be a gift. More often, it’s just a problem.
Arnold thought of something his English teacher had quoted from poet Thomas Gray’s 1742 poem, “Ode on a Distant Prospect of Eton College,” “Where ignorance is bliss, ’tis folly to be wise.”
Arnold didn’t know what that meant but hoped it was to encourage him to do what he was about to do.
He struggled in history class. It required too much memorization. A big test neared. Arnold had learned that the teacher kept the test in the left-hand drawer of his desk.
He made a plan, complete with diagrams, including arrows of several colors. He considered wearing a mask, but the black shirt, pants and shoes should be sufficient.
He tiptoed into the school when there were various extracurricular practices and games taking place. The school was far from empty, and you never knew when a staff member might show up.
Arnold felt prepared for covert actions. He’d seen a couple of James Bond movies – one of them twice.
He was prepared to pick the lock on the desk. He’d brought a paperclip for that purpose.
He was surprised to find the drawer unlocked.
“Foolish mortal!” he thought.
He quickly found the upcoming multiple-choice test complete with the answers.
He hid behind the desk while he jotted down the answers in order in his notebook.
His surreptitious activities went off without a hitch.
Outside the school, he whistled a happy tune as he walked home. He wouldn’t be history in history.
He prepared for the test by writing the answers (A, B, C or D) on his handkerchief, arms covered in long sleeves and ankles.
He’d tried memorizing them, but that was too much like studying. What was the point of cheating?
He took the test. He didn’t just take the test; he raced through it.
“Crime doesn’t pay. Ha!” he thought loud enough he feared others might have heard him.
It went well until Arnold reached the end of the test, where he was gobsmacked to discover he was one answer short. How could that be? He rechecked his answers as best he could.
“How bad could it be?” he asked himself before taking a wild guess at the last question.
It could be bad.
The missing answer had been the one for the fourth question. After the first three answers, Arnold’s were mostly wrong.
Arnold proved you can have all the answers but one and still flunk a test.
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