The Cold Days of Summer - Episode 4
After the death of Star, Drew and the rest of the family experience a Sunday morning coming down, while at school Drew learns two important lessons.
Previously in Episode 3 of The Cold Days of Summer Drew tries to figure out his little sister and lays down the first bricks of a wall that separates him from his Dad.
Sunday morning coming down
I didn’t go to church the next weekend or the weekend after that or the weekend after that.
Mom believed in going to church every Sunday and for several years she taught Sunday School. Luckily, she never taught my class, she seemed to like working with the younger kids and that was fine by me. Nearly every Sunday morning she made sure Elizabeth and I went to Sunday School and church. That meant over three hours of a Sunday lost, a half hour to get ready, another half hour coming and going, one hour for Sunday School and another hour for the church service itself.
Dad didn’t go to church. I don’t know why, I never asked why. I just know he didn’t, not even for the big holidays. He didn’t go to church, it was as simple as that. I don’t think he was an atheist, he just didn’t go to church. I never saw him pray. I never saw him read the Bible.
Before my Saturday meltdown over Star, I didn’t care for church and about once a month or so I would feign some kind of illness in an attempt to stay home. About every third time, Mom let me stay home.
Truth is, before Star, I didn’t know where I stood about God and religion. I found it all rather boring and I just didn’t see the connection between my life and God. Prayers didn’t seem to work and by the time I was six I had quit praying.
So there I was, I had already drifted away from religion, then Star died and I was true to my word, I no longer believed, I couldn’t believe in a God that would let a little thing like Star not live a life. And yet, nearly every weekend I was dragged to church by Mom. Those two hours seemed to last forever as I did everything I could to keep from listening to the message. I wasn’t disruptive, I just wasn’t there. I seemed polite and attentive, I memorized my Bible verses in Sunday School, I listened to the choir sing and the preacher preach, but I didn’t let any of it sink in. Each Sunday I was no different when I left church than I was two hours earlier.
Some people took church very seriously and some even seemed to get something out of it. I didn’t. It had seemed a waste of time before, and now with Star gone, it seemed like even more of a waste of time. Week after week, I became better and better at tuning out the noise at church, just biding my time until I could leave.
Two important lessons
The rest of August, we walked gingerly in our house. It was like Star had never been part of our family. It was like I had never cursed my Dad and God. It was like none of it ever happened.
Part of me knew that all that had happened, but with every day that passed that had no mention of it, I began to wonder if any of it happened. Part of me wondered if I had imagined it all.
We were polite to each other, but I was still angry with my Dad, at God. I had to be angry, I had lost something and I didn’t know why. Add to that no one talked about what happened, no one, not Dad, Mom, not Elizabeth, not me.
School started up the Tuesday after Labor Day. I was in the second grade at a new school and didn’t know anyone my age. The first few days were busy times, full of learning the layout of a new school, of being the new kid, of learning a whole new slough of names.
Little by little, day by day my memories of Star and his time with us began to fade away until finally in October the hurt was almost gone. It lingered a bit, like a wound that wouldn’t heal, but you get used to the hurt until you don’t notice it anymore. That’s how it was with Star.
Dad went to work every day, I went to school. Mom and Elizabeth stayed home. Our house was on 11th street and Dowling Elementary was on 17th street. The first day Mom drove me to school and I walked home. From that day on, I walked to and from school.
Dowling was about the same age as Ross Elementary but it seemed different, newer in some way. My teacher, Mrs. Abernathy was friendly and she made sure everyone in the class was friendly with each other.
Math turned out to be my path to glory that year as well as the cause of my downfall. Early on, we worked with adding and subtracting numbers and that seemed natural to me. I often completed my work long before our time was up. To keep me from getting bored Mrs. Abernathy let me work ahead in the math workbook. That was fine until I started to learn a little multiplication. I thought I had the hang of it, and I developed a few tricks to speed the work up. Only problem was my tricks weren’t based on true fundamentals, instead they were based on trying to speed things up. One of my tricks I used when I multiplied multiple digit numbers by each other, for example:
13
x
12
___My trick was to multiply 3 x 2, then do the same for all the other problems, then come back and multiply 2 x 1, then do the same for all the other problems, then multiply 1 x 3, then do the same for all the other problems and finally multiply 1 x 1. It seemed like a good technique, but it had its problems as you can probably guess. The good thing was I consistent in applying my technique, the bad thing was I was consistently wrong, and I didn’t know I was wrong until someone checked my work.
I had to unlearn my technique, learn a more correct way to do it. I also learned an important lesson: you better have a good way to check or verify your work so you can see if you’re on the right track before you get too far off track.
I also learned something else that year in the second grade, something that a profound effect on my life and my relationships. I learned that in most situations people will believe you, even if you’re lying – as long as you seem sincere.
What was driving me crazy in the second grade were the books we had to read. Way too simple. Our grade in reading was determined on not what I wanted to read, but on reading out aloud to our parents books that had been selected by Mrs. Abernathy. She kept a reading chart for each student in the class and she also kept a summary chart that showed the top five readers in the class. There was a hint of some kind of reward at the end of the year for the girl and boy who had read the most books aloud to their parents.
The second week of school I brought one of her books home, with good intentions to read the book out aloud to my Mom and Dad. It didn’t work out that way, Mom was busy with Elizabeth. Dad and I had that brick wall between us. Over the weekend I read the book to myself, but not aloud and was severely disappointed in the book. Monday I took the book to school and gave it back to Mrs. Abernathy. She asked me if I had read it out aloud to my parents. I said I did and she updated my reading chart. That was it. The next couple of days I waited for the lie to be uncovered, but nothing happened. By Thursday I realized I would never be caught in that lie so I decided to give it a try again. Friday I brought two books home, one was a biography of Mad Anthony Wayne, a hero of the American War for Independence. That was the book I wanted to read. The other book was from Mrs. Abernathy’s list. By late Sunday afternoon, I had finished the book on Mad Anthony Wayne. I opened Mrs. Abernathy’s book, flipped through the pages, smudged a couple of pages with some newsprint from the Sunday comics, was satisfied with my work and put the book on top of my stack of things to take to school on Monday.
Monday morning I turned the book back into Mrs. Abernathy. She asked me how I liked her book. I told her it was all right, but it moved a little too quick. She seemed satisfied and updated my reading chart.
By the end of the second week I was in fifth place on the reading chart, right behind Jed Downey and Audrey Thompson, they had both read three books so far. Leading the pack were the two smartest girls in the class: Barbara with five books and Teresa with four books.
I was satisfied with my position, high up, but not high up enough to draw much attention. I decided then and there, Jed would be the boy who read the most books and I would be right behind him. I didn’t care where we came out against Audrey, Barbara and Teresa, just as long as I didn’t attract too much attention.
Soon the top five settled into a rhythm of a book a week. Sometimes Jed or one of the girls would get two books in a week read, but I was happy with a book a week, that pace kept me in the top five and that’s where I wanted to be. So every Friday I took two books home, one a book I wanted to read, the other a book of Mrs. Abernathy’s list. Every Monday I brought both books back. Every Monday I told Mrs. Abernathy I liked her book and saw my chart updated.
After several weeks of this, one Monday I got a strange look from Mrs. Abernathy. She updated my chart, guess she wasn’t used to a second grader blatantly lying to her. Friday she gave me a long look as I took another book from her list home. That Sunday I changed things up a bit. I skimmed through the book and read the first and last pages to get an idea of what the book was about. I then dipped through the book for another ten minutes or so, reading a little here and there. And that was it, I put the book on my stack of things to take to school Monday.
On Monday I gave the book back to Mrs. Abernathy. Before she updated my chart she asked me a few questions about the book. Some of the answers I knew from skimming through the book, others I guessed. All in all, I did well enough. She smiled and updated my chart.
The rest of the year went by smoothly. By the time May rolled around I was three books behind Jed, who had moved into third place. I was in fourth, with Audrey in fifth. Teresa and Barbara were in a tight race to determine who would read the most books.
Did I feel bad about cheating my way to fourth place? No, because I didn’t see it as cheating. I read a lot that year, I just didn’t read what Mrs. Abernathy expected me to. I didn’t see any reason to waste my reading time on Mrs. Abernathy’s books and so I didn’t. In the end I probably read more words than Jed did, but that was all right, I wasn’t interested in winning.
Ready to read the next episode? Well, here you go - in Episode 5 Drew revisits the scene of A matter of color (remember I warned you about foreshadowing) and Drew’s Dad teaches Drew a lesson through the harshness of a spring west Texas storm.