Homework? How Dare You.

During my elementary and high school years, anything my teachers assigned for homework was destined to end poorly.

Invariably my assignments would contain a question about past predicates or solving for x, and, invariably, I would rapidly lose interest once I got home and got distracted by more pressing matters, like shoving a tray of ice cubes down Jake's shirt.

Once back at my desk I would spend several more hours drawing pictures in the margins of my notebook, and, eventually, admit defeat and ask Hal or The Beast for help.

Hal was the designated instructor for any questions involving math and science; The Beast oversaw essays, vocab words, social studies and piano lessons.

As a result, between the ages of 7 and 18, I was rarely happy to be speaking to them.

I have never met a respectable human being who enjoyed math homework, but Hal had a special way of making my daily assignments even more poignant.

After reading the story problem aloud several times (and adding additional dramatic inflections with each repetition), Hal would begin thinking out loud while scrawling what he considered to be painfully obvious conclusions across the page.

As I stared at the paper and began turning it a full 360 degrees in an attempt to find a starting point from which to decipher the result, there would be a series of fleeting moments (typically lasting 5 minutes) wherein he would openly question how we were related. Then, to put a positive spin on our time hunched around the kitchen table, he would tell a math-related joke to put my mind at ease. He might as well have been speaking Nigerian.

The Beast got to handle the softer subject matter, but she was no more helpful.

The most notable instance of this fact is the infamous assistance she offered while helping me prepare for a state capitals quiz in 7th grade.

Confident that she did not have to refer to a map while reviewing my answers to various flashcards (and using the capital of Oklahoma as her guide), she proceeded to inform me of the correct names of the other 49 states.

Imagine my surprise when a disappointed Mr. Lee handed back the tests and sternly explained to me that locations such as Hawaii City, Nebraska City, Florida City and Maine City did not exist.

The most unpleasant situations, however, came about whenever Hal was unavailable to help with his assigned areas of the curriculum, and The Beast had to fill in.

One famous assignment from my 8th grade science class asked each student to label the basic (I stress the word basic) components of a nuclear reactor.

Due to the fact I had been reading a Hardy Boys novel during the instructional film strip, I had to rely on The Beast's technical wizardry to apply the proper descriptive language to the various parts of the reactor.

Her final product was, perhaps, some of her finest work.