JUSTICE RENFRO: Why should pursuit of happiness be any different from those rights?
LIVINGSTON GULCH: Would you trust a child to pursue his own happiness, Justice Renfro? If so, why not get rid of compulsory education altogether? Let kids anesthetize themselves in front of their beloved screens until they come of age.
JUSTICE SUERTE: You take an awfully dim view of today’s youth, Mr. Gulch. Their pursuit of happiness might surprise you with its substance.
LIVINGSTON GULCH: And it might surprise you, Justice Suerte, with its emptiness. Eight- to eighteen-year-olds spend up to sixteen hours a day on screens. Seventy-six percent of teens use social media. Eighty-three percent of teenage boys play video games. Among teenage girls, the median number of text messages sent each day is fifty. They’re texting, Facebooking, Snapchatting, and Instagramming themselves into oblivion.
JUSTICE FITZGERALD: What about common law precedent? What do you say about the Supreme Court of Canada upholding a family’s right to refuse homework?
LIVINGSTON GULCH: Canada. Not China. You don’t see the hard-working nations of this planet coddling their youth.
JUSTICE RAUCH: Isn’t there a benefit to allowing kids time in nature without the constant pressures of schoolwork?
LIVINGSTONE GULCH: You might find God in a trout stream, Justice Rauch. But I doubt you’ll find a good-paying job there.
(Gulch’s clock turns red. He has one minute left.)
Which brings me to my final point. It’s true that children are the future of any nation. So consider this as you consider the future of ours. Compared with students in other countries, American students score thirty-first in math, seventeenth in reading, and twenty-third in science. In all three categories, China scored number one. Do you think kids in China are complaining about their homework? Do you think kids in Korea are worried about the pursuit of happiness? No. They’re too busy pursuing excellence.
Mr. Chief Justice, and may it please the Court, from where you sit, you are obligated to take the long view. Back to our founders, who left matters of education up to individual states and school boards. Ahead to our future, a nation of people ill prepared to compete in the global job market. This is no time to overstep your limits and disarm our teachers in the war on mediocrity. Let them use every weapon they have to make America great again. Including homework. I yield the balance of my time.
JUSTICE ROSENBURG: I wonder if we might hear from the boy who brought the case. Sam, in your own words, can you tell us why you’re here?
(Okay, I told you I have a hard time talking to grownups. But in front of these grownups I’m terrified. Not only are they the Supreme Court of the United States, but they’re floating high above me on thrones. The Guided Meditation Lady whispers in my head, Things can be accomplished in a calm, relaxed way, so breathe. I picture Mr. Kalman on the ground and refusing to say uncle to big Joe Mancuso. And I swallow an advice pill from Bernice. You can’t tear down a wall if you don’t take a swing. So I swing.)
SAM WARREN: I’m here, Justice Rosenburg, because I couldn’t take it anymore. I go to school all day. I work hard. I do what I’m told. I don’t complain. And I’m definitely not a crybaby. I like school. We learn a lot there. But when I finally get home, the last thing I want to do is more schoolwork. I want to run around, play the piano, see my friends. I want to draw and build a treehouse and learn what I want to learn. The way Steve Jobs did when he was a kid. The way Benjamin Franklin and Bill Gates and Herbie Hancock did when they were kids. Earlier this year we had to do projects on endangered species. I did mine on the red panda because I love trees and so do they. But if I had to do it over again, I’d choose a different endangered species. I’d choose childhood.
CHIEF JUSTICE REYNOLDS: Thank you, Sam. In light of the national attention this case has drawn, and the size of the crowd outside today, I’m ordering the clerk to set aside all pending matters so that we may go directly into conference. The case is submitted.
23
What Happened to Mr. Kalman
On our way back to the hotel, Sadie says we have to plan Mr. Kalman’s funeral.
“Mr. Kalman died?” Catalina’s lower lip starts to quiver.
“Let’s not jump to conclusions,” Dad says. “We don’t know what happened to him.”
“Well, if he’s not dead yet,” Sadie says, “he will be as soon as I get my hands on him.”
We hop out of our cabs, and the doorman says, “If you’re looking for Mr. Kalman, I’m afraid they took him to George Washington University Hospital.”
We all get real quiet. The quiet of a little kid who just dropped his toy but isn’t sure if it’s broken or not. The quiet before you cry.
We jump back into the cabs.
All eight of us march into the emergency room at George Washington University Hospital. A woman in the waiting area coughs.
“Maybe we should wait outside,” Alistair says, ducking behind Dad. “You can catch nasty diseases in an ER.”
“Sadie, why don’t you take Sam in? If Mr. Kalman wants a visit, he’ll want it from you. Just text us as soon as you know what’s going on,” Dad says.
There are certain things in life that kids have a hard time doing. And I don’t mean little things like tying shoelaces. I’m talking about big things—driving a car, joining the army, or having a beer. You can’t do any of those until you’re sixteen, eighteen, or twenty-one. They’re good restrictions because they keep us and other people safe.
But suppose a kid wants to visit someone in the hospital. You can’t unless you’re thirteen or older. In rare instances, they’ll make an
