“I’m sure Davey will find homes for them,” Mom says soothingly, but getting a little short of breath, the way she does any time she’s afraid one of us is losing his temper.
In fact, one thing this cat business seems to have established is that me and Pop fighting is the main cause of Mom’s asthma. So we both try to do a little better, and a lot of things we used to argue and fight about, like my jazz records, we just kid each other about now. But now and then we still work up to a real hassle.
I’ve been taking a history course the first semester at school. It’s a real lemon—just a lot of preaching about government and citizenship. The second semester I switch to a music course. This is O.K. with the school—but not with Pop. Right away when I bring home my new program, he says, “How come you’re taking one less course this half?”
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.”
“Huh.” I’m not very ready to buy this, but then I remember Tom’s father, who _doesn’t_ care. It makes me think.
“Besides,” says Tom, “half the reason you and your father are always bickering is that you’re so much alike.”