The Talk

“Bill?” Sandi stood beside me as I worked on the computer. “You’re going to have to talk to Ian. He doesn’t want to go to school this year.”

I kept the groan out of my throat. “He listens better to you than me. You should.”

“Nope.” Sandi crossed her arms. “Only you can handle this.”

“All right.” I got up with a sigh. “Tell him to meet me in the car. We’re going to get ice cream.” I’d done this before, and I knew a treat made the talk a little easier.

Twenty minutes later, Ian and I sat in the car with cups of ice cream in our hands. “All right, bub, what’s up? Your mom says you don’t want to go back to school.”

Ian took another spoonful. “She’s right.”

“Why not? You used to love school. New supplies, new clothes and seeing your friends again.”

“I’m 16 and I know enough. I don’t need to go to school anymore. Besides, I can stay up late, sleep late and go outside whenever I want.”

“Do you remember,” I took another sip of my shake, “the cartoon where the kid wished for his birthday every day, and his wish came true? How’d that end?”

Ian shifted in his seat. “He got bored, doing the same thing day after day.”

“Yep. But school is more than doing something different, even more than learning enough to get a good job.” I pointed toward a young lady, about his age, who’d just left the ice cream shop. “Without enough knowledge, how will you be able to talk with someone you’d like to get to know?”

Ian glanced at her as she got into a car. “I didn’t think of that.” He said nothing for a moment. “Can I have a new backpack?”

William R. Bartlett lives in Belton with his family.