by Calder Svendsen

He said, โLook, I do the work, Iโm passing, Iโm just trying to graduate.โ
And he was right, on all counts. He was an average student who did average work and gave average answers when prompted. He had a penchant for distraction, even when he showed an interest in whatever we were reading in English class, and I honestly couldn’t blame him. He wasnโt rude about it, just disinterested.
His mind was elsewhereโon job sites, on repair calls, on the HVAC business his father had run for as long as he could remember. His humor and work ethic were inherited traits, passed down from a man he deeply admired. He and the other โtech kidsโ in class made sharp observations about their goals and ambitions and had no qualms about sharing them.
โIโm not making any money here,โ was the common refrain, followed closely by โWe already know if weโre going to college or not.โ One of them told me bluntly: โI canโt use what most of yโall are teaching.โ
When I pressed him on why he didnโt just graduate early and head straight to trade school, he explained the catch. The only way to finish ahead of schedule was night school or summer school, both of which cost money. Neither was an optionโhe was already working every moment he wasnโt in class.
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