Jack Strong Takes a Stand

by Tommy Greenwald

  36

  The next three hours went by in a blur.

  5:00 p.m. A short guy in one of those Crocodile Hunter jackets introduced himself to me. “I’m Mel, Brody’s producer,” he explained.

  I shook his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

  “We are going to kill it tonight,” said Mel, whatever that means.

  6:00 p.m. Mrs. Fleck drove past our house and up to the cul-de-sac at the end of the street. The first thing she did was put up a huge poster between two trees. It had a picture of an overweight kid sleeping on a couch and it said, It’s Wrong to Lie, which was kind of clever, I had to admit.

  6:15 p.m. People started joining Mrs. Fleck. I recognized a couple of the stricter teachers from school, a couple of parents and their hopefully unwilling children, and my standardized-test tutor. (He probably figured he had to support Mrs. Fleck, since it’s people like her that helped him put a pool in at his house.)

  6:30 p.m. A bunch of kids from school came over to our house, cheering and yelling and holding up signs that said things like Jack Makes Us All Strong! and My Schedule Includes Xbox! Nana and my mom fed them all pizza. I was too nervous to eat. Which was a first.

  6:45 p.m. People kept coming. Some I recognized, some I didn’t.

  7:00 p.m. A student string quartet started playing Beethoven in the cul-de-sac. Mrs. Fleck cheered as if they were Lady Gaga. The cello player wasn’t as good as me. Just saying.

  7:30 p.m. The stage was finally ready. There were three cameras. Brody emerged from his trailer and brought a woman over to me to put some makeup on my face. It itched.

  7:45 p.m. The couch was lifted up onto the stage, with me on it.

  7:50 p.m. The lights came on.

  7:59 p.m. Brody looked at me. “You ready, kid?” I nodded. He pointed at the camera. “When you see that red light go on it means we’re on the air.” He chuckled. “So don’t be picking your nose or anything.” I responded to that the only way I knew how—by touching my nose. Sweat beads started popping out on my forehead. Brody cracked his knuckles, stretched out his neck, and gave me a thumbs-up. “It’s show time.”

  8:00 p.m. Show time.

  37

  A blinding light suddenly zapped me right between the eyes.

  Two huge applause signs started blinking, and people in the front yard started clapping and hooting wildly. It was like one of those pregame college football shows on ESPN.

  Not everyone clapped, though. Some people actually booed. I should have known right then that things wouldn’t go exactly as planned.

  The camera panned over the crowd and landed on Brody’s bright, toothy smile.

  “Hello, everyone, and welcome to Kidz in the Newz, the show that brings our area’s youngest newsmakers right into your living room. I’m Brody Newhouse, and tonight we’re broadcasting live from the front yard of a young man named Jack Strong.”

  The red light of my camera came on, and I tried to smile. The crowd cheered, and I heard Nana yell, “Bravo! Bravo!” which made me turn the color of a tomato.

  “There’s a real problem in this country,” Brody continued. “Because the world has gotten so much more competitive, parents have decided that the only way their kids will succeed is by getting into the very best college. And the only way to do that, apparently, is by filling their children’s every waking hour with some sort of self-improvement activity, as early as grade school. From sports, to music, to academics, to languages, it’s not enough to just be good anymore. Now, you have to be the best. And to be the best, you have to be practicing, working all the time.”

  Brody turned to another camera. “It was only a matter of time before one of these overscheduled children would decide that they’d had enough. And ten days ago, it finally happened. On a Monday afternoon, after a weekend filled with games, lessons, classes, and tutors, a middle school boy named Jack Strong asked his parents if he could skip soccer practice. They said no. And that was it. That was the last straw for young Jack. He went on strike. He sat down on the couch. He hasn’t gotten up since. And now, kids everywhere are supporting him in what’s becoming a real movement.”

  The crowd roared again, until Brody asked for silence.

  “But, like any controversial issue, there are passionate arguments on both sides. As we speak, a hundred yards away from us, there is a block party going on sponsored by Missy Fleck, a local parent who has emerged as the most vocal opponent of Jack Strong and what he’s doing. She is very firm in her belief that kids need to work hard to get ahead, and there are many that agree with her.”

  A cheer went up across the street.

  “We will be hearing from Mrs. Fleck later,” Brody said.

  We will?

  “As well as a surprise guest,” Brody continued.

  Really? Who? For a second I thought Dad?

  “And in a moment,” Brody concluded, “we will hear from the man himself, Jack Strong. But first, a little background on this amazing story.”

  The lights went out as a bunch of screens set up around the yard played a short report narrated by Shaina Townsend. There were pictures of me doing all my various activities. There was an interview with Mrs. Bender at school, where she called me “one of her favorites.” There was the interview from Wednesday where I said Mrs. Fleck “pushes her kids too hard,” which made some people in the front yard hoot with approval. And it showed a short interview with Nana, where she said, “I’ve never been more proud of him in my entire life. Plus, we play cards all day long, it’s wonderful!”

  Mrs. Fleck wasn’t on there, though. I guess they were saving her for the live show.

  After the video ended, the lights came up and Brody announced, “Back to talk with Jack Strong, after these short messages.”

  During the commercial break, the makeup people came out and attacked Brody’s face, while barely touching mine. “You’re younger than me, you don’t need as much help,” he said.

  The stage lights came back on.

  “Welcome back to Kidz in the Newz. And now, at last, Jack Strong.” The applause signs flashed, and Brody turned to me.

  “Jack, tell us how the whole thing began.”

  After all the waiting, and all the sitting, and all the sweating, I was ready.

  I took a deep breath.

  “Well, like you said, one day after school, I was sitting on the couch, and my mom came to get me for soccer practice, and I told her I didn’t want to go.”

  Brody looked at me, waiting. “And…?”

  I wasn’t sure what else to say. He’d basically just told everyone the story. But Brody kept looking at me, so I told it again. “And … I told my parents I wanted to quit some of the activities that they made me do. And they didn’t let me. They said I needed to be well rounded to get into college. So I decided to go on strike and stay on the couch until they changed their minds.”

  “Let’s talk about your dad,” Brody said. “This is mainly his doing, correct? This obsession with getting into a good college?”

  “I guess.”

  “So how has he reacted to this whole thing? Why do you think he hasn’t just let you have your way? Are you disappointed he’s not here tonight to tell us his side of the story? What’s his deal?”

  I wasn’t expecting those questions.

  “I thought we were going to talk about the problem of kids being overscheduled,” I finally stammered. “I don’t really want to talk about my dad.”

  “But your dad is part of the problem, right?”

  I froze, suddenly wishing I hadn’t gone on strike at all.

  “This is obviously a complicated issue, on both sides,” Brody continued, after realizing that I wasn’t going to say anything bad about my dad. “And speaking of both sides, I’d like to bring up a woman who is the leading voice from the parents’ point of view. Ladies and gentlemen, Missy Fleck.”

  The crowd applauded politely, with some scattered booing, as Mrs. Fleck made her way to the stage.

  When she got up to
the stage, the first thing she did was hold out her hand to me. I shook it.

  “Nice to see you, Jack,” she said.

  “You, too,” I answered.

  “Please, sit down,” Brody said.

  “Where?” she asked. Brody pointed to the couch. My couch! She looked at me, and I shrugged.

  “Plenty of room,” I said, and the audience giggled nervously.

  Mrs. Fleck sat down on the couch.

  “Mrs. Fleck,” Brody began, “you are on record as saying that Jack is setting a dangerous example to kids everywhere. Can you explain?”

  “I sure can,” she said. “But first, let me say that I think Jack is a fine boy, and I’m sure he’ll be very successful in whatever he does.” Then she flashed the same look that made me drop my bow in the cello recital. “In fact, my guess is that, ironically, this whole episode will help him a great deal when it comes time for him to apply to college. For all I know, that’s part of the plan!”

  I couldn’t believe this woman. Mrs. Fleck hated what I was doing and was jealous of me, all at the same time!

  “But here’s my problem,” she continued. “It’s a tough world out there, and getting tougher every day. Children today don’t realize how hard it is to make it. They think they can just coast along until one day a good job will just be handed to them on a silver platter. Well, it doesn’t work that way. It takes hard work, very hard work. And the sooner we teach the value of hard work to our children, the better off they’ll be in the long run.”

  “Very interesting perspective, Mrs. Fleck,” Brody said. Then he looked at me. “And one I suspect your father agrees with, right Jack?”

  I looked straight at Mrs. Fleck. “Actually, even my dad thinks you’re kind of over the top,” I answered to laughter and applause.

  Brody laughed, too, then nodded to someone offstage. “So there you have it, both sides of the story,” he said, “and two compelling arguments. But now, I want to bring out our surprise guest. She has a unique perspective on our discussion tonight, and I’m sure we all want to hear what she has to say.”

  He pointed to a dark corner of the stage. “Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome Lucy Fleck.”

  Everyone turned as Lucy emerged out of the shadows.

  Oh great, I thought. So that’s why she’d been calling me. To tell me she was going to make me look bad on live TV.

  I quickly turned to look at Mrs. Fleck, who was smiling at her daughter.

  Her daughter didn’t smile back.

  Lucy nervously walked over and sat down next to me on the couch. We glanced at each other. The audience was dead silent.

  “Hey,” she said.

  “Hey,” I said back.

  “So, Lucy,” Brody began, “you are the daughter of Missy Fleck, whose opinion we’ve just heard. I’m sure we’re all very curious to hear where you stand on this whole thing. Do you share your mom’s views? Is Jack doing the wrong thing?”

  Lucy looked around, her eyes getting wider and wider, and she seemed really nervous. For a minute, I wasn’t sure she’d be able to say anything at all.

  But as it turned out, she was braver than me.

  “Actually, I agree with Jack,” she said, in a voice so soft only Brody, Mrs. Fleck, and I could hear her.

  Mrs. Fleck’s eyes started popping out of her head.

  “Can you say that again?” Brody asked gently.

  “I agree with Jack,” Lucy repeated a little louder. “I think he’s doing a good thing. I know my mom has my best interests at heart, but sometimes it’s too much. It makes me scared and sad and sometimes angry and stuff like that. And it’s not fun.”

  By now her voice was at full strength. Lucy looked straight at her mother.

  “I love you, Mom, but sometimes I just want to be a kid.”

  Mrs. Fleck stared at her daughter. “Lucy…” she said, but she couldn’t finish the sentence.

  “I know you love me,” Lucy continued. “Please don’t be mad.”

  Then she hugged her mom.

  “Sorry,” Lucy whispered.

  Mrs. Fleck didn’t say anything. But she did hug her daughter back.

  Watching them, I suddenly missed my dad a lot.

  “Wow, a powerful moment between mother and daughter,” Brody said. “And now we want to hear from you, our audience. Where do you stand? Is Jack a brave pioneer or a lazy kid?”

  He gave a thumbs-up motion to somebody, the lights came up on the audience, and a young guy in a suit started running around with a microphone in his hand.

  The first person to speak was some high school kid I didn’t recognize. “These parents are lunatics! I support the kids!”

  An older woman spoke next. “You’re wrong! Kids today are lazy! Jack’s the laziest of them all!”

  Then some guy didn’t even wait for the mike, he just started pointing at me and yelling. “Why is this young man so determined to hurt his parents?”

  And that was it. All of a sudden, it was a free-for-all.

  “Let kids be kids!”

  “Spoiled brats are what’s wrong with this country!”

  “I think he’s a hero!”

  “What’s next, are kids going to refuse to do homework? Give me a break!”

  Then Ricky, the guy who worked in the ice cream store decided to chime in. He’d defend me, right?

  Wrong.

  “You’re a great kid, Jack, but you’re a little spoiled,” he said. “I wouldn’t mind having had some of the opportunities you have. My parents couldn’t have paid for Chinese lessons, that’s for sure. I can’t even afford to go to college this semester.” Ricky nodded at me apologetically. “Sorry, kid, just calling it the way I see it,” he added as half the audience clapped and half booed.

  Meanwhile, I suddenly felt like the biggest jerk in the world.

  Finally a familiar face came to my rescue. “I think what Jack is doing is AWESOME!” Baxter Billows yelled, and other kids roared. “Why should we have to run around worrying about college? We’re kids! Let us be kids!”

  But then someone else grabbed the mike. It was Alex Mutchnik, the annoying kid from school whose favorite activity was knocking over my backpack. “I disagree with Baxter,” he said. “I think Jack’s just lazy. While we’ve been in school working hard, he’s been home playing cards with his grandma.”

  That led to everyone arguing with each other all over again. I couldn’t believe it. What I thought was going to be a show about me taking a stand was turning into a circus. I looked at Brody for help, but he was smiling and pretending to look at his index cards. I realized this was what he’d wanted all along. Good television.

  I couldn’t believe it. And as I listened to the craziness, one thing became clear.

  No one actually cared what I thought.

  I searched the crowd for my family. I saw my mom, yelling at some technician, trying to get him to pull the plug. I saw Nana, who was busy arguing with the guy who had said I was determined to hurt my parents.

  But no sign of my dad.

  People started screaming louder. Some lady in the front row yelped, “Success is hard work!” while someone else in the back row cried, “Life isn’t easy! Kids need to be prepared!” Meanwhile, Cathy, Baxter, Leo, and Kevin Kessler were chanting, “Take a stand by taking a seat! Take a stand by taking a seat!” The string quartet at Mrs. Fleck’s block party started playing “Workin’ Day and Night” by Michael Jackson. Everyone was yelling, and nobody was listening to a word anyone else was saying.

  Finally one voice rose above the rest.

  “Can we have some quiet please? QUIET PLEASE!”

  Nana.

  Everyone stopped and turned to look at her. She was shaking a little bit, probably because she was about as mad as I’ve ever seen her in my life.

  “That’s enough!” said Nana. “Can you people hear yourselves? Have we all gone crazy? Can we all take a step back and remember whom this is about? The kids. It’s about the kids.”

  Nana walked
to the stage, where Larry helped her up the stairs. First she cornered Brody. “I know what you’re after.” She told him. “You’re after good television. Well, you got it. But at what expense? At the expense of my grandson, who’s become nothing more than an animal in the zoo?” She looked out into the crowd and across the street. “And what about Mrs. Fleck and her supporters? You can agree or disagree with their methods, but they, too, are just trying to do the right thing for the children.” Then Nana went over and put her hand gently on Lucy’s cheek. “And this adorable girl, who is so brave—why are we making her discuss such personal, painful issues in such a public way?”

  Nana turned out to the audience. “Shame on us. Shame on all of us for letting it get to this point. We need to trust our kids, just the way we wanted to be trusted when we were kids. We need to let them show us the way. Not the other way around.”

  Finally, she came over to me. “Jack is showing me the way. And I think it’s wonderful.”

  Nana kissed my cheek as people cheered wildly. She smiled as she walked into the crowd to shake some peoples’ hands, but I noticed she looked older than usual. Her skin was clammy, and her eyes were glassy. I saw her wince in pain, and it looked like she was having trouble breathing. At first I thought that she was just tired from her speech, but then I realized it was more than that.

  Something was wrong.

  I looked at my mom, who was thinking the same thing. She was trying to get to her mom, but was blocked by the crowd.

  So I jumped off the couch and ran to Nana.

  People couldn’t believe it. “Hey, look! The strike’s over! Jack Strong is off the couch! He’s giving up!” Some people started cheering, some started booing. My friends started screaming at me to sit down again. No one understood what was happening. People were hugging me and grabbing me and pointing and laughing at me, but I didn’t care. I just wanted to get them off me so I could get to my grandmother, but there were too many people.

  Then, for some reason, I turned and looked down the street.

  There was my dad, running up the block.

  He’d made it after all.

  He had a shocked expression on his face, and he started sprinting faster and faster. When he finally reached me, he yelled as loud as I’ve ever heard him yell.