It's a Hooky Day

Tuesday September 22, 2009. The sky is blue; I can’t see cloud anywhere. The temperature is near 70 degrees. The air is calm. It is a PERFECT hooky weather day. There are a few days in early spring and early fall that I classify as true hooky days. Today is one of them. On such occasions I have to take advantage of the weather. In fall it is to soak up enough sun to last through the long cold winter. In the spring it is to satisfy the craving for more sun-filled days.

My favorite things to do when I play hooky for an hour or two is to walk to Riverwoods and window shop at Williams-Sonoma, browse the stacks at Border’s bookstore, walk along the Provo River parkway, or sit in my backyard and read a good book.

Today my friend encouraged me to play hooky, saying that soon the weather would turn nasty and I would regret not doing it. I was reminded of a time when another so-called friend encouraged me to play hooky and the outcome wasn’t so positive.

As we opened the door to the shopping mall we passed a woman who attended our same church congregation. “Oh no. I can’t believe that we would see someone we knew. I wonder how long it will be before my parents know that I was sloughing school today.” I was in high school and dating a boy who was not a good influence. We had decided to skip school that afternoon. We were only gone for part of the day and were back in time to make it to our after school jobs at the local grocery store.

I don’t remember what we did that day. I do know that I didn’t really enjoy it. I knew skipping school was wrong. Why is breaking the rules never a fun experience?

The consequence of that day of hooky was a reduced grade in my science class. The teacher, Barbara Whittier, had a policy that if you sloughed school it meant an automatic grade drop. That term I got a B+, all because I skipped school for an afternoon. My parents didn’t come to my rescue and try to talk the teacher out of it; I knew that I broke the rules and didn’t try to convince the teacher to change my grade. I was disappointed in myself and frustrated that a stupid choice hurt my grade.

I saw Barbara Whittier a few weeks ago. I was attending church with my parents and she tapped me on the shoulder as we waited for Sunday school to start. Barbara asked what I was doing for work. I told her I was a professor at BYU. I wondered if she remembered the day I skipped her class.

Life is good. Hooky days are great!