Rice-Boy and School

 

(Rice-Boy needs his education.)

Yesterday, I took Rice-Boy to the local high school in my snazzy new Hyundai Venue. He brought his transcripts, his birth certificate, and his vaccination records. They were stored in a large manila envelope.

We struck up a conversation during the drive.

I said, “They’re probably going to hold you back a year.”

“That sucks.”

“Well, it’s certainly not a good thing. But just remember that your life would have been delayed for two years if you had stayed in Korea.”

Which is true. The ROK has mandatory service, and all male citizens are required to join the army for eighteen months. But Larry is half-a-white guy, so there’s no way in hell that the-powers-that-be would have ever let him into the military. Therefore, he’d have been stuck working the post office or picking weeds at the side of the road. And that’s a full two years since it’s considered light duty.

I took a huge drag from my vaping machine and blew the mist toward the windshield. “Just remember that you can’t get into any fights.”

“What?”

“Fights! You have to avoid them. You still have a hole in your skull.”

When Rice-Boy was six months old, a deposit of fatty tissue was growing out of the back of his head. So he had to have surgery to remove it. The bone never grew back, and now he has a hole in his noggin that’s about the size of a quarter.

Rice-Boy said, “Why would I get into any fights?”

“You can’t tell with these Texas rednecks. They might try to test you.”

“So I’m supposed to back down like a pussy?”

I nodded my head up and down. “Damn skippy. And don’t try to impress the girls. Trust me. If you got to get your ass kicked simply to impress some young split-tail, then she’s not worth the effort.” I took another pull from my vaping machine. “Your dad might be a white man, but he isn’t speaking with a forked tongue.”

Anyway, we got to the school about ten minutes later, and it was hard to get into the front door. Everything was completely locked down. It took us about five minutes to figure out which button to push before we were eventually buzzed in.

Larry said, “Boy, what a pain the ass.”

I smiled. “Welcome to America.”

To make a long story short, I finally got to speak to the registrar. She was a cute little brunette with a nice smile. She was also very polite.

I said, “This is my son, and I want to get him enrolled. But everything is a little complicated.”

She said, “Don’t worry. We’ll figure it out.”

“He’s from South Korea, and stuff is different over there. They start the year in March and finish in December. He’s completed his junior year, and now—”

She cut me off mid-sentence. “I know all about South Korea. So basically you want him to begin his senior year in August.”

“Exactly.”

I handed her his transcripts and birth certificate. Then she disappeared, and we sat on a wooden bench as we waited for further instructions.

I looked at Larry. “She knows all about South Korea. Who would have guessed it?”

“Well, Koreans are pretty much all over the world.”

I nodded in agreement. “You’re right. They are certainly ubiquitous.”

“True. Wherever you go, you’ll run into a Korean.”

When the lady returned, she told me that everything was in order, but that I should call on Friday for more information. She also said that he might have to take a couple of bullshit courses over the summer. Good enough, right?

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