In the Pep Club

As a high school student, I was deprived. My parents never once decorated my locker. On top of this deprivation, my parents never once made bus treats when I rode a school-chartered bus anywhere to do anything.

Parents in those days didn’t care about their kids. My parents had me convinced that putting a roof over my head, teaching me right and wrong, attending my school music and sports events, and tending to me when I was sick meant they cared. I was such a patsie. Good thing Mrs. Pepclub came along and set me straight. I ran into Mrs. Pepclub when she collared me in the school parking lot as I picked up my Freshman from her first day of High School.

“Your kid playing basketball?” she demanded as she planted her body, clad in school colors, in front of my car. I eyed the billy club she was swinging from one hand to the other and fearfully replied,
“Y…yes…”
“You’ve already missed three parent meetings. You better haul your fanny down to the school tonight to paint posters for the gym.”
“Posters?” I asked nervously. I vividly imagined Mrs. Pepclub covering me with a shotgun while I fought a losing battle with a paintbrush and wracked my brain to think up a clever jingle.
“Yeah! Parents need to support the basketball team! We need to show these kids we care about them! Each player needs her own poster in the gym.”
“But I paid for three different basketball camps. I drove 500 miles and stayed for a week in a town where they don’t even speak English so my kid could go to a good basketball camp. We mounted a basketball hoop to the top of my china closet! I swear, I care about my kids!”
“Hmmph!” She snorted, “Parents who TRULY care about their kids paint posters for the gym. Be there!”

After making out my will, I left for the school. I met up with the other caring parents in the school cafeteria where we stared blankly at the poster paper and tempera paints. This situation was desperate. Three year olds jeer when I draw stick figures. I consider the Sunday funnies inspirational reading. Shuddering, I picked up a brush and started. I painted my daughter’s name in red with letters two feet high. But my clever sayings repository was empty. Then, inspiration hit. I scribed the slogan “Give a hoot! Don’t pollute!” I’d seen these wise words on a small sign in my best friend’s bathroom next to a can of air freshener. After attempting to draw a few decorative basketballs that ended up looking like pizzas run over by a road grader, I was finished. Another caring parent had finished another caring poster job.

The other day, the kids told me the high school doesn’t allow the parents to hang posters in the gym anymore. Just when I was getting the hang of being a caring parent.