I never understood ‘the credential’

It must have been back in the early 1970s.

The announcement was made that this would be one of the last times by written examination, we could get a school administrative credential in California. After that, people would have to take classes at a university school of education if they wanted to achieve this state authorization.

A few of my school district friends and I took the test. We all passed expect for one who was already a high school vice principal — and a pretty good one at that.

He tried a second time and still flunked. It was simply one of those strange ironies in life. The administrator was already performing well on the job, so why did he need a piece of paper to prove it?

As for the rest of us, some went into administration and others didn’t. We had to renew the credential every five years or so. We’d send our money to the state and a new certificate would arrive by mail — good for the same amount of time.

It always said “EXAMINATION” in caps to let everyone know that we had “cheated” and not spent a lot of time and money at a university earning the “real” thing. But strangely enough, there was no difference in what we were authorized to do.

I guess I’ll never really understand it. I suppose it comes down to the fact that people at university schools of education just need to make a living too — right?

The Daddy Greeting

When I was around 14 years of age, I remember my father complaining that he was not getting the deserved respect as head of the household.

I think he felt sorry for himself for the fact that he lacked a “normal” family, as seen on those black and white sitcoms, such as “Leave It To Beaver,” “Father Knows Best” or “Ozzie and Harriet.” Our family was more like “The Honeymooners.”

“From now on, you three kids will come out of your rooms and greet me when I come home!” my father declared.

“OK,” I thought. “Not an unreasonable request.”

But I think pop may have missed the point. In those perfect world TV shows, kids greeted their dads because they wanted to (or at least that’s the way the script was written), not because they were ordered to.

So after that when we heard the front door slam, we stopped whatever we were doing and greeted the old man — usually from top of the stairs.

“Hello, Father,” we’d each say with an almost London accent.

He would respond with sort of a “humph,” put his briefcase down and head for a glass of chardonnay.

Sometimes, we got the “daddy greeting time” off when he was on duty all night at the hospital.

I think he knew his methodology had failed, but didn’t know quite what to do about it.

My father was good to his family and always took care of us. No doubt he made sacrifices for his kids. But Dad ruled by fear, not love — at least that’s the way I saw it.

But what do kids know? We’re too much into ourselves to step into the shoes of others and see life from their eyes. Today, things probably would have been different.

Back then, I just followed the ritual, did my duty and then went back to reading Hot Rod magazine — covertly hidden under my English homework.

Dumb Things

No matter how smart we think we are, we all do dumb things. I certainly have done my share. Take leasing a Porsche while living in a shack on School Street, and at the same time, trying to pay for a master’s degree at a private university. That was dumb.

Oh, yes. There was the year when I talked my way into an executive position at an upstart advertising agency. I knew nothing about the business. As things turned out, it was way too much work for a lazy guy like me. But at least the company made my Porsche payment.

One of the best dumdums was when I lost an expensive electronic car key. I headed for the dealer to create a new one. But when I got home, the original was sitting on the couch. Of course, that wasn’t MY stupidity. The gremlins were at work that day.

Yes, we all do dumb things, and it’s good we do. Otherwise, we wouldn’t have great stories to tell our friends and family.