Chương 41: Book 2 - Chapter 10 B

Once inside the restaurant Matt followed my seating plan. He ended up having Clark on one side, and Harry on the other. Janet took the seat on the end of the table between Harry and Dick. As soon as we got our places figured out, I was up and at the buffet with Dick right behind me. As I built the biggest salad I could with a tiny plate, and tiny tongs, I asked him, "What grade are you in?

"I'm in the eighth grade."

"I never got to check out the Middle School, they moved me from the Grade School to the High School direct."

"That's too bad," Dick said.

"It's not much bigger than the Grade School, but it's got a huge gym and basketball courts. We are right next to the High School, so we sometimes use their track and field at the football stadium."

"That's cool. Do you like track and field?"

"It's okay," he shrugged.

"What I really love is football. I'm going to try out for the High School team at the end of the year." When our plates were overflowing we went back to our seats. Matt, Harry and Janet had to wait for their food to be delivered. Clark and Amber had opted for the buffet too, but they weren't back yet.

"Amber was my very first friend at the High School," I told them.

"I was sitting by myself at the lunch table my very first day there. She came up and sat down across from me." I nodded to Amber as she slid in next to me.

"That had been a rough day," I continued, telling the story.

"That morning nothing seemed to be going smoothly and the place was so big compared to the Grade School. It was so nice to have lunch with a smiling, happy person. She really made me feel welcome, I'll never forget that." Amber bumped my arm playfully.

"See, Mom, I'm a hero! That was also the day that Ms Balfour was fired," Amber added.

"She was very mean," I stated.

"I went to the front office first thing that morning to pick up my books. She ended up threatening to 'give me a whipping I'd not forget.' Principal Endicott heard her, and fired her on the spot." Dick seemed to be impressed with the story, but was busy eating. Amber was not so busy.

"He's Superintendent Endicott now. He got promoted after Superintendent Clayton got a job offer in Oklahoma City." I asked Dick, "You're just a little older than I am, did you have Principal Lewiston in Grade School?"

"Yeah," Dick said between bites.

"I liked him a lot. He basically tutored me fourth through eighth grade right there in his office."

"That's cool."

"What about you, Clark? Amber mentioned your grades are okay. Are you enjoying the football scholarship?" Clark, who was busy eating as fast as he could, perked up when addressed directly.

"Yeah, the training is great. I'm thinking about majoring in Business or maybe Marketing. I want to work for an NFL team's front office someday. But the classes are tough. I'm taking Managerial Accounting right now and I just can't wrap my head around it. All these different ways to value inventory—LIFO, FIFO, average cost. It feels totally disconnected from what I want to do."

"Ah, Accounting," I mused, taking a bite of salad.

"It's not about finding the right number. It's about finding the number that helps you manage things. What specifically is confusing you about inventory valuation?" Clark sighed, running a hand through his hair.

"Why does it matter if we assume the oldest stuff or the newest stuff sold first? My professor, Dr Miller, keeps saying 'matching principle' and 'conservative reporting,' but when I try to work the problems, the numbers never seem to match reality."

"The numbers don't match reality because Accounting is a story, not a reflection of what actually happened," I explained, leaning slightly forward.

"Think about your job goal: working for a professional team. You'll be dealing with millions in merchandise inventory—jerseys, hats, programs. If you bought a thousand jerseys today for twenty dollars each, and next week you buy a thousand more for twenty-five dollars each, and want to sell them all for fifty, got that?" Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings. Clark nodded quickly.

"I do."

"If you use LIFO—Last In, First Out—you're telling a story that the new, expensive jerseys were sold first. This makes your Cost of Goods Sold higher, which means your reported profit is lower. Why would you want a lower profit?"

"Uh, to pay less tax?" Clark ventured, a spark of understanding hitting his eyes.

"Exactly. If you report a lower profit, you pay less tax. But if you use FIFO—First In, First Out—you're telling a story that the old, cheap jerseys were sold first. This makes your profit higher and your Balance Sheet looks better. Why would you want a higher profit?"

"To show the bank or investors we're successful, so we can get a loan or raise money!" Clark finished, grinning widely.

"The Accounting method you choose is a tool for communicating a specific financial story," I summarized.

"It's a way to manage perception and taxes. When you're in the NFL front office, you'll need to know which story to tell, and when to tell it.

"It can help you to see it more intuitively if you graph it out," I told him, sketching it out on a napkin.

"If you set up the results visually you can see what the potential story is and pick the one you want to tell." I handed him the napkin. He studied the graph.

"Thanks. I appreciate the explanation, John," Clark said, looking like he understood.

"Just let me know if you have more questions. We can figure it out," I assured him with a smile. I looked over at Matt and Harry, who had been quietly engrossed in their own conversation.

"So, Sergeant Preston," Harry was saying, leaning back comfortably in his chair.

"Camp Lejeune, huh? What company were you with?"

"Third Battalion, Eighth Marines, Alpha Company. I was with the 3/8 for my first tour," Matt replied, his large hands resting on the table. The conversation about his time in the Marine Corps was clearly relaxing him.

"I did a few years as an instructor later on, but nothing beats that first assignment. What about you?"

"Sixth Marines, 2nd Division. I got out in sixty-eight. Did a tour in Vietnam before coming home," Harry said, his voice dropping slightly, the memory palpable.

"I was a machine gunner. You know, you never forget the sound of an M60." Matt nodded slowly, his eyes distant.

"I was mostly stateside or short deployments overseas. Security detail: high-value protection. My last few years were spent teaching close-quarters combat. A different kind of intense, but still the Corps."

"Security detail," Janet chimed in, smiling at Matt.

"Is that why you are his bodyguard? You're certainly enormous. I bet people would avoid John just because you're standing over him." Matt actually let out a low chuckle, a deep rumble in his chest.

"I was who he picked. I was fresh out and needed a place to be. John picked me. I went through an intensive training course and I've been his driver ever since.

"It's been an experience, but I enjoy it. I enjoy watching John leaving people speechless."

"What has he done?" Harry asked.

"I took him to the gun range, the one out by the airport," Matt said, and Harry nodded, knowing where it was.

"He doesn't just shoot. He's a natural. Give him a rifle with a scope and he's got the fundamentals down instantly. He sees the patterns in the wind and the bullet drop like it's drawn on the target. It's uncanny. It keeps his head clear, though. And the sound of an M1911 going off tends to calm the nerves after a long week of, well, John being John." Harry nodded approvingly.

"Good on you, son," he told me.

"Keeps the mind sharp."

"Mom insists I get outside every Saturday. It's been fun. I'm hoping to try out for the next Olympics but that's a few years off," I said, standing to refill my plate. Dick followed. When I got back Amber was telling them about my artwork at the school.

"I don't think you saw the room they dedicated to his four weeks of High School Mom," Amber said, as the server arrived then with the ordered meals.

"Ma'am," I asked the server, "Do you have crayons and a kid's placemat?"

"I'll bring them right over, dear," she promised.

"Oh! You're going to draw something!" Amber enthused drawing the attention of the table. Using the crayons I did a quick sketch of the face of each member of the family on the blank back of the placemat. I signed and numbered it and gave it to Amber.

"A memento," I told her.

"This is so great. I'm going to frame it and keep it in my room!"

"It's very good, John," Janet said.

"I think I'd be willing to get it professionally framed so we can put it on the wall in the living room."

"Really, Mom! That's so great. Just remember he gave it to me. I'm just letting you put it up," Amber said, defending her new artwork.