Hemingway On Summer Homework
The mother was once dreaming of Africa.
The mother looked forward to summer vacation. She thought of the homework struggle that happened every night. It was ugly like a bullfight. She did not want to supervise mathematics problems. She wanted to travel to golden beaches. She did not want to go over third-grade spelling. She wanted to go to the zoo on any day but a Sunday. The mother did not care if she sounded like a bitch. She was tired. She wanted to feel new again, like a pair of baby shoes, never worn.
Soon after school ended, the mother went to clean out the daughter’s backpack. The backpack was purple and it was made of nylon. It had a horse on the front. The horse had a horn on the top of its head. Inside the backpack was a packet. The packet was yellow. It was thick like a tuna fish.
“What is this?” The mother asked her daughter.
“Summer homework,” the daughter said.
The mother concealed a cuss behind her closed lips. Was she not, a moment ago, dreaming of Africa?
The mother found twenty-four mathematics pages to complete. Thirty pages of spelling words in Spanish and French. There was also a list of required reading. The list was printed on a sheet of paper that was green like the sea.
