What's Up, Chan?

For Graham and Chandler, school is dismissed at 3:15 p.m. Everyday at precisely 3:17, Graham bounds out the door, homework tucked neatly under his right arm. He climbs in the car, buckles his seat belt, and begins to surf the radio waves for a song he likes.

And we wait.

Five minutes tick away. Then ten. Sometimes we hit fifteen.

Eventually...finally...Chandler awkwardly emerges from the school. He backs out, pushing the door open with his rump. Both arms are stretched out front, palms up, loaded with an unkempt pile of binders, text books, and wrinkled papers. His lunchbox acts as a paperweight, teetering atop the leaning tower of school supplies, while more often than not, a pencil or pen is clenched in his teeth.

When he gets to the car, he must juggle everything to find a hand with which to open the door. After he gets in the car he must again shift his heaping mass of educational paraphernalia in order to buckle his seat belt.

By the time I pull away from the curb, grass has grown under my tires.

Every day I ask Graham,"Where is Chandler?" "What is he doing?" "Why is it taking him so long."

Graham shrugs, changes the radio station for the 18th time and says, "I'm hungry."

Since it appears that Chandler merely scoops up the entire contents of his locker and heads for home, I cannot, for the life of me, figure out why it takes him five times as long as his brother to get from the classroom to the car.

In his defense, Chandler always has everything he needs to complete his homework, never misses an assignment, and gets amazing grades--even if the stuff he turns in looks like it has been through a war, run over by a semi, and put through the washing machine.

I have two words for you: Abstract Random!

As I am typing, Graham and David are attempting to enlighten Chandler in the fine art of structural engineering as it applies to homework transportation techniques. They are explaining (with great detail) that smaller items should be stacked on larger items, while loose papers should be secured within folders and/or binders. Chandler is trying to follow their instructions, but it is almost as if they are speaking Greek to him.

And yes, he does own a backpack. Apparently, such utilitarian accessories are not cool enough for junior highers to tote. I can only imagine that if Chandler saw how debonair (not!) that he looks using his method, a backpack would suddenly appear cooler than a texting teen high on Red Bull.

We love our Chandler, who having heard me read the previous paragraph aloud, has now found his backpack and is loading it with his things. The only thing is, I am not sure that adding an element, even one as practical as a backpack, will speed-up the after school departure process.

We shall see.

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