Some retired military officers say that lack of summer school availability is affecting national security. Their idea being summer school would stop kids from just laying around, getting fat and not learning anything during summer vacation and thus be better prepared for military service. Still, I don't know that I'd wish summer school on anyone.
I hated summer school. It wasted 6 weeks of my summer vacation while everybody else was out screwing off. And it seemed to be just me. None of my friends went. It might not have been so bad if one or two people I knew had to go but, nope, it was always just me.
Adding insult to injury, I couldn't even go to my own school. Since a minority of kids attended, they'd consolidate summer school at one school in the district which wasn't the one I normally went to. So there I sat, in a school I'd never been in before, surrounded by people I didn't know. It sucked.
I can't think of anything I learned in summer school. The only class I specifically remember taking was Typing. I don't know that I ever learned to type in that class but I did remember finger placement on the keyboard- ASDFJKL- all my life. That made it easier to learn typing on my own as an adult...maybe.
Then there was that one fight back in 6th or 7th grade summer school. Well, not actually a fight. I just got knocked out cold.
During recess we were playing four square and this little black kid kept walking straight up to the front of the line. Everybody was telling him, "No cutting!". He'd still cut to the front of the line and no one stopped him.
Taking charge, I grabbed him lightly by the arm and said something like, "C'mon. It's not cool to cut to the front of the line". I tried to lead him to the back of the line and that was all I remember.
I woke up laying on the ground and could see the back sides of all the kids going back to class as recess was over. Nobody waiting behind to see if I was ok. No concern from them about the guy that tried to step up and stop the kid from cutting. So much for trying to be the hero.
The left side of my throat hurt. Apparently, he punched me right where my throat met my jaw and knocked me out for who knows how long. I wasn't just hurt, but humiliated.
After school that day I was walking out in front by the parking lot and saw that little black kid waiting for a ride. He never gave me a second glance. I suppose us white boys all looked the same to him. I quickly crossed the street and scurried home never to see that kid again.
A fitting last memory of summer school.