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Louie Boots
Thaddeus Rutkowski
Early in the morning, I stood by the living room window and looked out across the porch. I was standing in an alcove, so I could see not just forward, but also to the side. I could see down the street to the post office.
Shortly, I spotted the yellow warning lights of an approaching school bus and called out, “It’s coming!”
My brother and sister and I grabbed our books and lunches and ran to the front door.
“You’re not going anywhere,” our father said. “I need to talk to you.”
I looked through the window and saw the bus’s red lights flashing. Down the street, students were boarding. The bus would soon pull out and head in our direction.
“I going to take you out of school,” our father said. “I see the brainwashing that’s going on. You’re becoming typical Americans.
“I’m going to teach you at home,” he continued. “You’ll read books not assigned in your classes.
“Take these,” he said. He held out volumes by Thomas Merton, Norman Cousins and Madame Blavatsky.
My brother and sister and I each took a book as the schoolbus passed.
“I guess we’ll have to say we’re sick,” my sister said.
“Maybe we’ll never go back to school,” my brother said...
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