By Richard Mabey Jr.

In mid September of 1969, in the start of my junior year at Boonton High School, I got a D on my first chemistry quiz. I was devastated. It was the first time that I had ever gotten a grade of D, in my entire life. My world was falling apart. A great moral and ethical dilemma suddenly fell upon me, not as a feather floating downward to my shoulders, but rather as the weight of a heavy boat anchor suddenly descending upon me at full speed. The question haunted me, should I tell my mom and dad about my D, or just rip up my test paper and throw it in the trash can at school?

The essence of my moral fiber would not allow me to just rip up that test paper, with the D written atop it by a bright red, thick marking pen. All the way home, on the school bus, I inwardly trembled at the thought of telling Mom and Dad I had gotten the low grade of a D on my first chemistry quiz. I rehearsed it over and over.

Well, that night at the supper table, I managed to muster up the courage to show my chemistry test paper to Mom and Dad. I first handed to Dad and he handed it to Mom. A silence fell upon the table, that was in reality only about 20 seconds, but it seemed like a year and a day.

I remember this moment all so well. Dad took a sip of his milk. He looked over to Mom, who was a bit in shock at that moment. Then Dad simply said, “Richie, you’re going to have to study harder on this chemistry class.”

And that was that. Suddenly my father was talking about the big Fall Scout Camporee coming up in a couple of weeks. My mother was talking about the rising price of peanut butter. What I inwardly trembled about since third period, was a reaction that passed by in about three minutes time, at the max.

After supper, Dad sat next to me at the dining room table and worked on some paperwork for scouts. Dad served as the Scoutmaster of Boy Scout Troop 170 for many years. There, sitting next to my father, I did my homework and studied my chemistry. From the living room, I could hear my mom and sister watching the Andy Griffith Show. I knew it was best not to even ask Dad if I could watch Andy and Barney that night.

When I say that I studied my chemistry that semester, I mean I studied it so well that I had the entire Periodic Table of Elements memorized so well that I knew it like the back of my hand. I ended up getting a grade of B on my next chemistry quiz. Mr. Toomey, my chemistry teacher, wrote the words, “nice improvement” on the top of my test paper, complete with an explanation point!

Through the years, I have always been amazed when I hear someone say, “my son is failing algebra, I don’t know what to do about it?” I would think to myself, “make him study harder!”

My father dropped out of high school to join the Seventh Army Air Corps during World War II. He later earned his GED and went on to take courses in theology at a local college, to help him in his role as a Lay Leader in the Methodist Church. But in all so many ways, my father was one of the wisest men whom I have ever known.

When I was a boy studying at Boonton High School, my dad knew hardly anything about chemistry. He knew that propane gas was a bit dangerous. From his scouting training Dad knew that we breathed in oxygen and released carbon dioxide and that the trees of the forest took in carbon dioxide and released oxygen. But my dad had the wisdom to know that after I got a D in my first chemistry quiz, I needed to study more. And, he sat down next to me, at our dining room table, while I studied my chemistry and worked on my other homework assignments.

No tutor, no chemistry expert, and all the books on chemistry ever printed, could have never replaced the watchful guidance that my father gave to me, as I studied my chemistry. When I went to college and studied chemistry, I think that I had an edge on the other students for having so painfully studied the Periodic Table of Elements chart.

Now at 67, I have grown to develop a greater appreciation of my father’s patient guidance of my schooling. In spirit, I thank him still. In memory, I return to that humble dining room table and I can still hear the echo of my father’s voice saying to me, “Richie, never mind about what Andy and Barney are doing, just study your chemistry book.”

Richard Mabey Jr. is a freelance writer. He can be reached at richardmabeyjr@hotmail.com. Please put on the subject line: My Life Publications.