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Why I Shouldn’t Help With My Brother’s Homework

June 6, 2012

If I were to say that my 15 yr old  brother and I do not have any thing in common, it would be gross understatement. He’s into lots of math, history, war and sciencey stuff, where as I’m into reading, writing, the arts, actually having fun, etc.

The other day my mom asked me to come over to help my little bro write a sonnet for school. After grumbling about how this should be more of a deal-with-on-the-phone kind of issue, I begrudgingly went to their place. Once there, I found my brother’s mood to be even more rancid than mine. I sat down and tested the very limits of my patience, trying to explain the seemingly easy concept of a sonnet.

Apparently my limits of patience is about five minutes and twelve swears. Here is what our conversation was reduced to after about twenty minutes.

“JESUS CHRIST, KID! I already told you this! It’s fourteen lines, ten syllables each! A – B – A – B – C – D – C – D – E – F – E – F- G – G!”

“FOR GOD’S SAKE, SPEAK ENGLISH! What is wrong with you?”

“How can a kid so fucking smart be so stupid! Just pick up your pen and write the bloody sonnet!”

“How can an adult  so stupid be so fucking smart! You pick up the pen and write the sonnet!”

“Oh no, I’m not that stupid. Get someone else to do your homework.”

At this point my mother interjected. “For crying out loud! I’ll write the bloody sonnet!”

My mother grabbed the pen and spent an hour writing the world’s shittiest sonnet. I’m not going to copy it here but it gist of it was, don’t have kids unless you hate yourself.

“Geez, Mom. That’s harsh,” said my brother after reading it. “How am I supposed to hand this in? It’s obviously written from a bitter old woman’s point of view.”

“And your rhyming scheme is all off,” I added. “You have too many syllables in four of your lines and there is no natural progression.”

“Well I think it’s brilliant and I’m putting it on the fridge,” my mother said.”While I’m there, I think I’ll pour myself a bottle of wine.”

When she returned with a two bottles of wine, one for me and one for her, the three of us sat down together and began hashing out a sonnet. Four and a half hours and another bottle of wine later we completed our Ode to The Big Bang Theory. I wish I had kept a copy of it because the unanimous (albeit two-thirds drunken) consensus was that it was the most brilliant fucking sonnet ever written for a tenth grade English class. We confidently, if prematurely, toasted to my brother’s “A” and then I poured myself into homeward bound cab.

I crawled into bed at about four in the morning, waking my boyfriend.

“Were you at your mom’s all night? What were you doing?”

“Lamenting the unrequited love of  Rajinder Koothrappali and Howard Wolowitz,” I slurred.

“Isn’t Bernadette the  unrequited love of Rajinder Koothrappali?”

“It’s a complicated triangle. Don’t worry, it comes together in  G – G.”


4 Comments leave one →
  1. June 6, 2012 10:38 am

    Er… yep. After you A-B-A-B-C-D-C-D… I’m lost, explanation, I don’t think I can write a sonnet either. What the hell does all that MEAN? OK, you got me, I did math and science at school too…

    I wish you’d kept a copy, I’d love to have read that sonnet too!

    • June 8, 2012 6:48 pm

      Well I don’t think I could write a GOOD sonnet. One that is acceptable for grade 20 English, though. I’m on it.

  2. zencherry permalink
    June 6, 2012 4:20 pm

    Bwhahaa! Sounds like me and my kids. The wine part especially. 😀

    • June 8, 2012 6:49 pm

      Yeah, I don’t know how parents do it, really. I’d be a wino by the time my kid was two.

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