On The Silly Side by Jimmy Del Ponte

(The opinions and views expressed in the commentaries of The Somerville News belong solely to the authors of those commentaries and do not reflect the views or opinions of The Somerville News, its staff or publishers.)

Wow that was quick -it seems like the little darlings were just saying goodbye to their classmates in the schoolyard back in June – and suddenly – THEY’RE BACK! My boys (5th and 7th ) graders say they are ‚Äúpsyched‚Äù to go back to school so they can see their friends. Let’s see how they feel after a few days – I hope the passion lasts.

We just got back from Maine and I heard the automated ‚Äúwelcome back‚Äù message from the school principal – it was good to hear her voice, because she is a peach. When I was their age, I got hives and started shaking every time I heard that ‚Äú before you go back to school, go to Zayre’s‚Äù jingle. To this day I hate the back to school circulars that come in the newspaper.

I encourage my kids to do their best in school, but it was different for me – all you have to do is say the words ‚Äúschool clothes‚Äù and I’m breaking out into a cold sweat and wool rash. I still bum out when the stores jam the back to school sales down your throat. I have been conditioned to hate this time of year, and stubborn Italians are hard to change.

Some of my friends say they can’t wait until school starts – they want their kids out of their hair – I couldn’t care less. Even though my kids have the ability to turn me into a raving maniac and push the envelope to the limit, I like when they’re around. The two little tykes can reduce me to a sniveling, sobbing psychopath, but I still would rather have them around than not.

I want them to enjoy every second of being young – maybe it’s because I know how fast time goes by and they will soon be off on their own like their sister. I still need time to get them ready for the real world and ruin them a little more with my bias views and lop-sided opinions. Don’t get me wrong, anyone who knows me can vouch that I have a short fuse, but with the kids I do my best to stretch my patience. I’ve said it many times, Ward Cleaver I am not.

All kidding aside, I am truly glad my boys are excited to return to school, because their school is a good one. I am also thrilled that we still have several weekends left to go camping at our trailer in New Hampshire – they just might be doing their homework by the campfire, like Abe Lincoln, or something.   
I have many wonderful memories of my school years, thanks to my classmates and a lot of dedicated teachers and administrators. I also remember that sick, nervous lump in my stomach that accompanied me through most of my school experience.

For me, going back to school was like going back to prison after being on a furlough – it was a combination of bummers that made me hate school. For eight years it was wearing a necktie and saying acts of contrition. Then we couldn’t have long hair or wear dungarees. Can you imagine getting in trouble if your hair touched your shirt collar?

And although I have written about a lot of good teachers, there were also a lot of windbags who were on power trips. I had one teacher who flunked me in his/her subject (I won’t even say the subject because it will be easy to figure out who he/she is). Even though my mother paid for a tutor and I really tried my best, this jerk flunked me – then the geniuses at the High School put me back in the same course with the same teacher the next year to suffer through another year of numeric abuse (did that just give it away?). Well, that nightmare lasted half a week, thanks to a great guidance counselor. Unfortunately I harbored a lot of animosity toward this creep – he obviously tried to be a hard guy, instead of a good teacher.

The beginning of school also meant our summer of fun was over. No more staying out until the streetlights came on. No more riding our bikes. It meant no more hanging around that special girl’s front stairs until her father came out, gave you a dirty look, and called her inside. Messing around with your friends was over, and just doing nothing was history, to be replaced by World History. School meant the end of fun. It was hours of sitting in a stuffy classroom listening to a lot of hot air being expelled, mixed with Old Spice.. Thank God for lunchtime. It was the only thing that kept us going. The American chop suey and the pizza were my favorites. I think there was some sort of sub sandwich thing we had that wasn’t half bad. Thank God also for the beautiful girls in our class. The false hope, wishful thinking and all those unfulfilled dreams at least gave me a reason to keep coming back.

With the MCAS testing, there is a lot of pressure of students. They make a big deal out of it and scare the kids. I always say, half in jest, that my kids will have their music to fall back on and I hope they are successful at it. The truth is that they have to do a ton of homework in order to keep up. My kids are in a great school with an A-1 administration and teachers that are dedicated. The superintendent is super. A lot of my kids’ teacher’s are my former classmates and lifelong friends! There are also lots of great after school programs for students today.

Thankfully, Somerville has an excellent school system that is run with heart. Back in my day, some teachers were downright heartless and nasty. The good teachers, mind you, greatly outweighed those cranky disgruntled moldy molders of youth (carry a grudge? who, me?). They, along with “building masters” made my life miserable Рthanks!

Thank God times have changed…a few years on the shrink’s couch may help me let go of some of the anger. It is the same anger I have toward some former bosses that were poor excuses for humans.

So, I bought the new clothes and sneakers and the boys are anxious to get back to school. I will be happy to see the moms and dads who have been my friends since our kids were in pre-school together. And I’d like to assure them that I changed the passwords on our computers so daddy says when it’s My Tube and Your Face time.

They’re back, and so are the parking police, so be careful not to get a ticket while you are picking up your kids. Some of these ticket givers are probably the spawn of those teachers that made it miserable for us years ago. I can still hear that jingle – before you go back to school go to therapy! Excuse me, I have to use some geometry to figure out my bills for the month, check out the wild card standings and plan tomorrow’s supper.

Correction: Mary Ann Hellen informs me that her class (1967), not mine, had Miss Charleton in her first year teaching at the Western! But we are the class that put the dog in the paper closet!

Please e-mail your comments to Jimmy at: jimmydel@rcn.com