I explain that I’m taking music, and also biology, algebra, English, and French.
“Music!” he snorts. “That’s recreation, not a course. Do it on your own time!”
“Pop, it’s a course. You think the school signs me up for an hour of home record playing?”
“They might,” he grunts. “You’re not going to loaf your way through school if I have anything to say about it.”
“Loaf!” I yelp. “Four major academic subjects is more than lots of the guys take.”
Mom comes and suggests that Pop better go over to school with me and talk it over at the school office. He does, and for once I win a round—I keep music for this semester. But he makes sure that next year I’m signed up all year for five majors: English, French, math, chemistry, and European history. I’ll be lucky if I have time to breathe.
I go down to the flower shop to grouse to Tom. It’s after Valentine’s Day, and business is slack and the boss is out.
“Why does Pop have to come butting into my business at school? Doesn’t he even think the school knows what it’s doing?”
“Aw, heck,” says Tom, “your father’s the one has to see you get into college or get a job. Sometimes schools do let kids take a lot of soft courses, and then they’re out on a limb later.”
“Huh. He just likes to boss everything I do.”