There’s an old saying that goes something like…
An apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.
It could’ve been written about Little Elvis and me because he is like me in every way you can imagine. From the way he rolls his eyes to the way he stands to the inclination to be needlessly verbose when a simple ‘yes’ would suffice. (See?)
From his stellar guitar playing ability 
to his academic difficulties in Junior High, he simply couldn’t be more like me.
My mother often says that, based on appearance alone, I couldn’t deny he was my son even if I wanted to. (I can’t imagine ever wanting to do that?)
If personal history is indeed repeating itself, then my mother’s wish of forty years ago might just have some legs. I recall her making the pronouncement, after I brought home a particularly disappointing report card…
“I hope you have a son who turns out to be just like you!”
Unfortunately for LE, he’s also like me when it comes to his adolescent academic performance. I’ve often maintained that I was unconscious until college. In Junior High, I spent most days wondering who was going to beat up. I was on crutches for six months before having knee surgery and was an easy target.
I barely graduated from high school because I couldn’t see the point of memorizing the Who’s Who of Western Civilization, understanding the ins and outs of Boyle’s or Newton’s Laws and couldn’t have cared less whether I was able to run a mile under 6 minutes. (Still can’t.)
It’s the ultimate irony that I nearly didn’t graduate from La Cañada High School in 1975 because I hadn’t passed freshman science but graduated with honors from college (with a BS in Biology, no less) and medical school. (I’ll bet my parents wonder about that, too!
)
But this time it isn’t me causing my parents to gray prematurely (or lose their hair completely – Sorry, Dad), it’s LE helping to prod me further along the same path.
I met with his academic counselor today and walked away feeling better about the prospects of LE remaining in the same school. Until today, I’d been investigating alternative (charter) schools within the district. I felt he might perform better in a school that didn’t have a kazillion kids in grades 7 and 8. I was hoping the deer-in-the-headlights look might not be prevalent at a smaller school where the pace wasn’t as fast.
For now, LE stays put
The good news is that the school calculates a cumulative GPA over the two years spent at the school. That means he has a plenty of time to correct the errors of his ways and raise his GPA so that by the end of 8th grade, I might still have some hair!
I enrolled him in an after school homework club three days a week. Boy, is he gonna love me! 
I spoke to my mother about the situation this evening. And, like most grandmothers who think the sun rises and sets on her grandchild, she refuses to believe anything I say about him unless it’s flattering. (Just kidding.)
After we talked a while, I thought about the machinations inside my then 12 year-old head. I thought about my aversion to Ms. Rhonert’s Western Civ class as well as my inclination to cut PE class. I thought about how I felt so crappy about my academic performance, but not crappy enough to do anything about it. I also thought about how tough it had to have been for my parents to watch me slide further down the grading scale knowing that I could do better if I applied myself to that end.
I asked her, “How in the world did you and dad get through those years?” Her response was classic.
“We simply loved you though it.”
Guess I’ve got my marching orders.
