Thinking About Dad, Report Cards and Star Wars (No, not the movie)

My parents placed great importance and value on report cards, surely much more than I did. But to them the value was not just in supposedly knowing what I'm learning but also financial in nature. Put simply, I was paid money – or had to pay money – based on my report card grades. More on that in a minute.

They had no idea that I grew so bored with some scantron tests that I would draw patterns when bubbling in my answers. Nor did the tests or report card grades reflect that I was becoming a budding writer with my own unique Kurt Vonnegut meets Molly Ivins style, or that I was making money selling notes for history class. In short, the report cards did not reflect what I was learning about myself which was – then and now – worth more than how well I did in physics tests.

What do I remember most about physics class? That the teacher did something I think every teacher has wanted to try, namely tell the students that if they were not going to pay attention they might as well leave. So we did, first one or two of us and then 90 percent of the class, going to get donuts or other snacks during his class. Finally he decided – wisely, I think – to cancel that experiment before the principal realized his class was learning more about the cost of donuts than, say, gravity. Then what class should I be in when the space shuttle exploded and, per gravity, fell, but, of course, physics?

I mention my physics class because of an odd relationship struck between my friend, Eric, and my dad. Dad was an engineer and a republican and you put those two things together and, at least in his case, that made him think he knew something about everything. Sometimes this got us both into problems, a la the prom disaster and other times I thought of my dad as a real life MacGyver.

I mention this to provide some context for the great Star Wars debate. No, not over which movie was better but about the Star Wars concept of missile shields, as Wikipedia explains here. My dad, being the good Republican cold warrior, was sure that Star Wars would work. My friend, Eric, a year younger than me and twice as smart (he later went to Cal Tech), disagreed.

I don't remember how the written conversation between them began. I've mentioned before that dad and I would use newspaper articles to debate issues, leaving a newspaper and a handwritten note out to try to prove a point, i.e. "This article says more eloquently than what I said last night why the death penalty is wrong."

As unusual as that kind of communication between dad and son probably is – perhaps playing a role even in my foray into journalism – I think one would agree it would be even more unusual if the communication began to involve a third party. Enter Eric.

Eric would find an article rebutting the likelihood that Star Wars would work and then write a brilliant one page letter summarizing his beliefs on the topic, citing various physics lessons (he actually attended his physics classes) and I would serve as a human carrier pigeon, transporting Eric's letter to dad. Dad would write a response a day or two later and I'd give that to Eric. On and on this went for weeks. I was jealous of this relationship but the only scientist I found interesting at that time was Richard Feynman.

Dad is now gone and I've lost touch with Eric but this relationship he had with Eric, treating him as an intellectual sparring partner and/or equal, is admirable, I think. It is a good example of the kind of story about dad that I repressed when I was busy being mad at him for not telling me he was proud of me or that he loved me.

(Incidentally, I have heard it said that if you grieve right for someone you love then over time your bad memories will fade and the good ones will remain and that is what has happened with Eric and Star Wars.)

What sparked these memories to return, as I said, was the discussion about students being paid to learn. At first I joined others in saying students should not be paid to learn (since learning is its own reward) but somewhere in the deep recesses of my mind I remembered a related financial scheme.

Here, essentially, is how it worked (I don't recall the exact amounts.)

If I received an A in a class I'd get $7.50 but if I received an F I'd have to pay $10. If I received a B I'd get $5 but for a D I paid $7.50. And so on.

Did anyone come from families where this was done, or is done now? The funny thing is, not only can't I remember how much money I made but I also don't recall what I spend the money on. What I do remember was that the relationship and communication between Eric and my dad was worth more money than I could get if I had been a valedictorian (I wasn't) and that the way I dealt with bad grades was probably, on reflection, quite telling.

If I got a D in, say, a foreign language class my concern was not with having to pay for the bad grade -that was usually outweighed by good grades in other classes – but that I knew my parents would be disappointed and I'd get the lectures.

What I would do is write a note to leave on the kitchen counter next to the report card explaining that I knew I screwed up in that class and I'm more disappointed with myself than they could ever imagine and so I'd already sent myself to my room as punishment. Sure, I'd say, you can come upstairs and lecture me but why not save us both the drama? I'm upstairs studying right now for the subject on which I fared poorly and will be doing so for the rest of the night. I meant most of that, too, but it was mainly to avoid the lectures.

Dad, for instance, would tell me about the time when he at University of Michigan and others in his dorm wanted him to come party but did he? No, he did not and that's why he got As in his classes and got such a good job!

I always to say, "and I still think you should have gone to the party and settled for an A-" but then I don't think that was the lesson he wanted me to carry away from that lecture.

The end

Related: Dad and journalism

Back To Top