Jack Strong Takes a Stand

by Tommy Greenwald

  My mom brought my dad a beer, and he took a big swig. “I’ll let you quit—sorry, give up—one thing,” he offered.

  I shook my head. “You don’t get it, Dad. I just want to do the stuff I like. I like the cello. In fact, I plan on practicing right here on the couch! And I guess I do like baseball, even though I’m not very good at it. But everything else, forget it.”

  Dad shook his head slowly. “Well then, I guess we’ve got nothing else to talk about.” He got up. “Have a nice life on the couch.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “I plan on it.”

  I tried to eavesdrop on my parents and Nana while my dad ate dinner, but they shut the door. Afterward, my parents went upstairs to read and watch TV in their bedroom.

  Nana stayed downstairs with me, got me some ice cream, and we played gin rummy, her favorite card game. After a while my mom came back down with my cello. “I heard you say you planned on practicing?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  Mom looked like she was about to leave the room, but then she stopped and turned back.

  “You do realize how lucky you are, right?” she said. “How many opportunities you have, and how wonderful your life is, all because of how hard your dad works?”

  “And how hard you work,” Nana said, looking at my mother.

  I put down my cards. “I know, Mom.”

  “There are families who would kill to have what you have,” she continued, bending down to look me square in the eye. “Ninety-nine percent of the families in the world, in fact. Please don’t ever forget that.”

  I tried to stare back at her but couldn’t quite pull it off. “I won’t. I promise.”

  She kissed the top of my head. “Don’t forget to brush your teeth,” she said, and headed upstairs.

  Nana and I kept playing, but neither of us talked for a while. I think we were both thinking about what my mom had said. She was absolutely right, of course.

  But that didn’t mean I was wrong.

  When I went to the bathroom before bed, I looked around the hall like I’d never seen it before. There was a nice family photo that I looked at for a while. There was a cool painting of a guy fishing. The light had an interesting glow. The houses across the street were interesting if you really stopped to look at them.

  Then I peeked up the stairs. I could see the door to my room. I wondered how long it would be before I slept in my own bed again. I was tempted to go up and see if my room looked the same as it did yesterday, but I didn’t. That would have been breaking the rules. My rules.

  When Nana got up to go to bed, she kissed the top of my head, too.

  “Same time tomorrow?” she asked.

  I nodded. “I’ll be here.”

  She shook her head. “Oh, boy. This is going to get hairy.”

  I turned out the lights and went to sleep.

  20

  STRIKE—DAY 3

  The next thing I knew, a bright light was shining in my eyes, and a scary voice was yelling, “Get up!”

  I wasn’t sure if it was a dream or not. I tried to open one eye. “What time is it?”

  “Five o’clock,” said the voice, which I was slowly starting to realize was my dad’s.

  I rubbed my eyes and saw him standing there in his suit and tie. It was still completely dark out, but he’d turned all the lights on in the room. I realized this was when he headed out the door to work every day, and I suddenly felt bad for him.

  “Are you waking me up to say goodbye?”

  He pushed my legs off the couch and sat down. “No. I’m waking you up to tell you that if you don’t go to school today, you’ll be grounded for the entire summer.”

  “Okay.”

  “Okay, what?”

  “Okay, I’ll be grounded for the entire summer.”

  My dad looked like he was about to yell, but he didn’t. Instead, he just said quietly, “Jack, you are unbelievable.”

  My mom came into the room, looking like a zombie.

  “What’s going on?”

  “I’m trying to get it through our son’s head that this nonsense has gone on long enough,” said my dad.

  “Okay, but it’s five in the morning, he should be sleeping—”

  “STOP UNDERMINING ME!” my dad yelled at my mom. “I’m trying to take care of this situation. If it were up to you, he’d have a perfectly swell time on the couch the rest of his life!”

  “That’s not true,” said my mom. “I just go about things differently than you.”

  “You don’t go about things at all!” said my dad, still yelling, though not as loudly. “You’re too nice! You can’t even discipline your own son. Don’t you see how much harder that makes it for me?”

  It was my mom’s turn to raise her voice a bit. “Well, you’re the one who’s so convinced that Jack has to spend his life running around from thing to thing to thing. This is your mess, you figure it out.”

  “That’s exactly what I’m trying to do!”

  “Fine!”

  “STOP FIGHTING!” I interrupted, joining the yelling. “I don’t want to live on the couch for the rest of my life, obviously! I just want to live a normal life and do the things I want to do! What is wrong with that?”

  My dad looked at his watch, mumbled something under his breath, and got off the couch.

  “I’m going to miss the train.” He stared at my mom. “I want him in school today.”

  Then he walked out of the room and left the house without kissing her goodbye.

  “I’m really sorry, Mom,” I said.

  She looked at me. “Go back to sleep,” was all she said.

  21

  I fell back asleep, and when I woke up again, Nana was sitting on the couch next to me, watching the morning news.

  “What time is it?” I asked for the second time that morning.

  “Almost nine,” Nana said. “You were out like a light.”

  “Where’s Mom?”

  “She had to go to the school and explain what’s going on, and then she’s going straight to work.” My mom volunteered two days a week every June at the local high school, helping kids find summer jobs. “You’re causing quite a stir, young man,” Nana added.

  It took me a second to remember the early-morning fight.

  And then it took me another second to realize that my mom hadn’t made me go to school after all.

  Suddenly I felt really guilty. I hated being the cause of my parents fighting.

  “Am I doing the wrong thing, Nana? Should I get up and go to school?”

  She sighed. “You’re doing a brave thing, Moochie-pooch,” she said. (For some reason known only to her, she sometimes called me “Moochie-pooch.”) “You’re sticking up for what you believe in. But sometimes, doing a brave thing can cause problems.”

  “I guess so.”

  So I decided to stick with my strike, at least for one more day. I didn’t want to cause problems between my parents. Plus, I was pretty sure that when Dad got home that night, he’d physically remove me from the couch anyway. But even if the strike ended, I felt like I’d made my point. I’d been on the couch for more than two days, and I’d stood up to my dad, which was something to be proud of. And if I did end up going back to school the next day, all the kids would think what I did was cool. That was something to look forward to.

  Nana decided that if this was going to be my last day on the couch, we should make it special. So we ordered Chinese food and watched Dodgeball. What an amazing movie.

  “Ben Stiller is extremely talented,” Nana said, even though she thought the movie was a little silly. “Just like his parents.” Whoever they were.

  In the middle of the movie I got a text from Leo: COMING OVER LATER WITH MARCUS.

  I texted back: COOL.

  Marcus was Leo’s older brother. His main claim to fame was that he had the longest arms of any human being I’d ever known. He was a nice kid, but I had no idea why he was coming over. Either way, it would be good to see Leo. It had been only two
days, but I was starting to miss my friends.

  After Dodgeball ended, I asked Nana if she wanted to put in a yoga DVD.

  “Not today, Moochie-pooch.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I’m taking a walk with Peter.” Peter was Nana’s friend. Exactly what kind of friend, I didn’t know, and I didn’t want to find out.

  “Fine, be that way,” I said as she hugged me goodbye.

  Time ticked by kind of slowly. After a while, I looked at the clock. 2:55 p.m. A long time until dinner, Mom wasn’t home, I was sick of TV, I didn’t feel like reading, and Maddie was snoozing.

  I didn’t want to admit it, but for the first time in my short couch life, I was bored.

  Then the doorbell rang. Thank God.

  Technically, I wasn’t allowed to answer the door, but I decided to combine it with a bathroom break.

  “Dude!” said Leo, who was standing there with his long-armed brother.

  “What’s up,” said Marcus, sounding as though he really didn’t care what was up at all.

  I closed the door behind them. “Are you guys coming from SERVICE?”

  Marcus snorted. “Yup. What a joke.”

  While I headed to the bathroom, Leo went into the kitchen and helped himself to some chocolate milk, as usual. “Marcus totally agrees with you,” he said, between slurps. “He thinks this whole town has gone insane with parents freaking out about what colleges their kids are going to get into.”

  Leo followed me as I headed back to the couch. “That’s why I wanted him to come over and talk to you about what you’re doing.” He dumped about a zillion pieces of paper out of his backpack and onto the coffee table. “And I brought you some of your homework, too.”

  Marcus and I plopped down on the couch at the same time, startling Maddie. She’d been running full speed in her sleep, probably chasing a squirrel.

  “So what is this all about?” Marcus asked, opening his eyes to an almost-awake level. “You’re seriously, like, sleeping on your couch now?”

  “Not just sleeping,” I corrected. “Living. I’m living on the couch, and when I say living, I mean LIVING. As in, I’m not getting off the couch ever.”

  Marcus opened his eyes a bit more. “Huh?”

  “I’ve been overscheduled my whole life, and I’ve finally had enough,” I explained. “Doing dumb activities like learning Chinese and karate and tennis, and having tutors, just because my parents want me to be this high-achieving, well-rounded person. But all it’s really done is make me hate that stuff even more.”

  “So he went on strike,” Leo added.

  Suddenly Marcus was wide-awake. “So what you’re saying is, you’re living on your couch because you’re protesting against parents locking their kids in the prison of overactivity?”

  I hadn’t quite thought about it like that, but I nodded anyway.

  Marcus started pacing around the room. He jabbed his brother in the ribs. “Get me a piece of paper.”

  “Ow!” Leo cried, wincing in pain. He rubbed his side. “Why?”

  “I might want to write an article for the school newspaper,” said Marcus. “I need to take some notes.”

  “The school newspaper?” I asked. That sounded cool. That sounded like people would pay attention to what I was doing, and think it was interesting, and support me!

  Which meant, of course, that I might not be going back to school after all … which I would have to tell my dad … who was already completely mad at me.

  Uh-oh.

  Marcus Landis grabbed a pen and some paper from his brother, sat down next to me, and smacked me in the back. He’d gone from coma to hyper in about seven minutes.

  “Tell me everything,” he said.

  22

  My dad tried a new approach when he got home.

  He acted like he was my best buddy.

  “I totally get what you’re doing,” he said, sitting down next to me on the couch, munching on a cookie. “I do. You’re too busy, you’re feeling too much pressure, why should a young kid like you have to worry about looking good for college. I totally get it. Let’s figure out how to fix it.”

  “I know how to fix it,” I said. “I want to quit karate and soccer and tennis and Chinese. No more tutors. And no more test-prep classes.”

  My dad’s smile started to look a little forced. “Can I get you a bowl of ice cream while we talk about it?”

  “No thanks. I’m having dessert with Nana.”

  “Honey?” he yelled to my mom. “I need to talk to your mother.” I was pretty sure he was going to tell her to stop making my couch life so much fun.

  He turned back to me. “How about we compromise? You can definitely not do the tennis lessons that I just signed you up for.”

  “Not good enough.”

  The smile disappeared completely. “Well in any case, you need to go back to school while we figure this out. You can’t miss any more school, you’ll fall behind.”

  “Mrs. Bender said she’d send all my work home,” I said, referring to my teacher with the tiny mustache.

  “She did, did she? Well, I’m going to call her right now.”

  My dad went into the kitchen, mumbling under his breath. The mumbling got louder when he couldn’t find the school phone book. Then the mumbling turned into actual cursing when he couldn’t find the phone itself. Finally, he found everything he was looking for, and the cursing became mumbling again.

  “Yes, hello, this is Jack Strong’s father … Yes, nice to speak with you as well … It is a strange situation, indeed … I just can’t have him falling behind on his schoolwork, on top of everything else … Yes … I see … Of course, of course … Well, thank you very much for your time.”

  He marched back into the TV room.

  “She says what you’re doing is part of the tradition of free speech and expression that makes this country great,” he said.

  Ah, good old Mrs. Bender.

  “Leo’s brother Marcus said the same thing,” I told my dad. “He thinks I’m doing a great thing, and he’s going to write an article about me in the school newspaper.”

  That was the end of my dad being nice. It was also the end of my dad trying to change my mind.

  “Fine,” he announced. “It’s your life. Stay on that couch forever for all I care. I’m going to eat dinner, do some work, and then take the dog for a walk, and actually live like a normal human being. You should try it sometime.” He got up from the couch. “Call me when you’re ready to get back to real life. Until then, I’m done.” And he walked out of the room.

  He passed my mom, who was bringing me dinner.

  “He’ll calm down,” she whispered to me. “He doesn’t mean it. Things will be fine in a little while.”

  But they weren’t.

  My dad didn’t talk to me again for two days.

  23

  STRIKE—DAY 5

  It was Friday morning when things started to get a little crazy.

  Leo called first thing in the morning, while I was eating breakfast (on the couch, of course).

  “Go to the Inkblots website.” Inkblots is the name of the high school newspaper.

  “Why?” I asked, although I kind of knew. My heart started to pound.

  “Just do it,” said Leo.

  I leaned over to the computer (Nana had moved it next to the couch for easy access) and found the website. I couldn’t believe my eyes.

  There was an article about me. And it was HUGE.

  Horace Henchell Student Takes a Stand by Taking a Seat

  By Marcus Landis

  * * *

  Horace Henchell Middle School student Jack Strong has spent his entire life running from one extracurricular activity to another, and now he has finally decided he has had enough.

  “I was just tired of doing all this stuff I didn’t want to do, that my parents were making me do,” said Strong, a seventh grader. “They think I need to do it to get good at everything and look good for college, but I woul
d rather just live like a regular kid and have time for regular kid things like TV, video games, and just hanging around.”

  This past Monday, after a long weekend of games and practices and recitals and classes, Strong came home from school and was very tired. When his mom tried to get him to go to soccer practice, Strong said he was too tired to go. Then Jack’s father got involved, tensions escalated, and Jack announced once and for all that he wasn’t going to practice. When Jack’s dad asked him, “Do you want to just sit on the couch for the rest of your life and do nothing?” Jack Strong thought about it for a minute, and then answered, YES.

  Which is when Jack Strong went on strike.

  He’s been on the couch for five days so far, and he’s decided that he won’t get up from the couch until his parents promise to let him drop a bunch of the activities that he doesn’t want to do.

  “It’s not like I’m trying to make a big point or anything,” Strong explains. “And I don’t expect anybody else to do what I’m doing. It’s probably pretty stupid, not going to school and everything. But it’s just something I wanted to do, because I felt strongly about it.”

  Jack now spends his days on the couch exercising and watching TV with his grandmother, reading and doing homework, playing video games and hanging out with his dog, Maddie. The only times he gets up from the couch are to get something to eat and to go to the bathroom.

  “I’m not going to lie, sometimes it gets a little boring,” said Jack. “But it’s a lot more fun than learning how to say the names of various household appliances in Chinese.”

  Jack Strong’s mother and father were unavailable for comment.

  I finished the article, and read it again. Then I read it again.

  “Leo, are you still there?” I whispered, after the third time.

  “Yup.”

  I let out a long breath. “Holy moly.”

  “I know. Are your parents going to kill you?”

  I shook my head, even though Leo couldn’t see me. “My dad is too mad to even talk to me. He’s just ignoring me now and waiting for me to get bored and give up. And my mom is making up for my dad being a jerk by being extra nice.”