After thinking about them, I did a Google search and found they still exist. As a matter of fact, according to the Internet, there have been a lot of issues surrounding them of late. Some activist groups call them racially biased. Of course, they're the same folks who to administer final exams and diplomas based simply on spelling your name correctly.
But, I digress...
It's somewhat pleasing for me to see that such an important part of my high school years is still around. If you were taking a course that had a Regents final, you certainly knew it by the middle of May. That's when your teacher started to prep you for this. You'd have to get a workbook like the one pictured above. It would give you sample past exams. The Best of Regents as it were. If your teacher had done a good job over the entire school year, the workbook was just a good refresher.
I think I took my first Regents exam in the ninth grade and it was for Algebra. Aces. The same for some sciences and English and history. Not only did I pass these exams, I always did so with flying colors.
This was a good thing. Because, always watching over my shoulder, was Dad.
Backtracking a bit, I can tell you that my father was not particularly active in my school life. That's not to say that he wasn't interested, but he worked nights. As a result, when it came to things like Parents Teacher Night, it was my mom doing that heavy lifting.
There was one time, however, where my dad made a school appearance. In high school, I had an asshole of a gym teacher called Mr. Lee who was a little abusive to me when it came to doing gymnastics. I didn't want to do it. Mr. Lee didn't like that and was a bit nasty about it. My father had a one-on-one with the jerk. To this day, I have no idea what happened in that tete-a-tete. But, from that point on, Mr. Lee treated me like I was Waterford Crystal.
Other than that mysterious incident, Dad was not the school activist in our house. Except when it came to Regents exams. It seems that, sometime in Parents 101, the importance of these tests was drilled in. And my father somehow believed that doing well in these exams was the answer to all things in life.
"Don't monkey around with those Regents."
Er, yes?
For the most part, Dad's stern warning wasn't needed. I had good teachers. I did the prep work. I bought the workbooks at Barish's Bookstore on Gramatan Avenue in Mount Vernon, New York. And I had the Regents scores to prove it.
"You want to make sure you get that damn Regents diploma."
Um, okay. If you passed every Regents exam in high school, you got some paper acknowledgement of that accomplishment at graduation. Perhaps my father thought you could redeem that at the gas station for free fill-ups. All I know is that he really wanted me to get this.
But, as my high school career progressed, this was not a worry. I wasn't just passing Regents exams, I was always getting 90s or better.
And then came senior year. Or, specifically, Physics class. As it would be in perfect dramatic style, this would be the very last Regents exam I would take. Nothing seemed to be a problem. All throughout the school years, I was getting nothing but A+s on my report card in this class.
Except I should have seen the warning signs. The teacher was an addled and leaky old fossil named Mr. Russell, who was knock, knock, knockin' on Heaven's door. He loved to astound us with little experiments that could have reruns of TV's Mr. Wizard. But, when it came to May and the need for Regents prep, he did nothing.
Okay, no worries. I went down to Barish's and got the Physics prep book. And I'll never forget my reaction when I opened it when I got home.
Holy shit!
Whatever curriculum Mr. Russell was following for 12th grade Physics, it wasn't in this book or maybe even state. This could be a potential disaster.
And it was. I have no idea how my classmates fared. But I was in a complete fog taking that final Regents. 90 or better? I was simply hoping that I would come in somewhere over 65.
I wound up at 63. And there went the Regents diploma, along with other store coupons my father would get from it.
I knew it would show up on the computerized report card that showed up in the mail. That document was always opened first by my father.
I remember watching him scan the scores at the kitchen table. He looked up at me.
"Well, you tried."
Who are you and what have you done with my father?
Sometimes, in life, people surprise you. And my dad sure did that day.
"Hey, you're going to college anyway. No big deal."
Um, okay.
Dinner last night: Sausage and peppers at Carlo's in Yonkers. As good as usual. Meal capped off with a cannoli.
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