He's Standing Right Behind Me, Isn't He?

Seven-thirty came and went. No Bob’s dad. (See yesterday’s entry.) I went to the faculty meeting on a slow burn. Afterward, around 10:00, I was in the English office venting. “I dragged my sorry ass out of bed a half-hour early so that I could just get screwed!” I complained to my colleagues. Then I looked up, and there was a mild-mannered gentleman standing in the office doorway. “Excuse me,” he said, “I’m looking for Mrs. Reed.”

Ah yes, she would be the one in the middle of the room with egg on her face.

We talked for an hour. As is typical of ACE parents, he just needed to talk some, tell me what the journey’s been like, how much he loves his son but can’t understand him. I much prefer these conferences to the ones where some drunk comes in and tells me how worthless his kid is. I’ve had that happen more than once.

I filled him in on my background, assured him that I saw the good and gentle soul his son has buried underneath his apparent apathy.

I also told him in no uncertain terms that his comment about April 20th hurt. I hate this about myself, but I seem to have very little control over my emotions about that. Sometimes I can talk about it completely dispassionately, like it happened to someone else. Sometimes I cry. This time I cried. Crap. Then again, maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing, because he cried, too, and apologized very sincerely. He had just moved into the area in ‘99 and joined my debater, Dan’s, church. He didn’t know Dan or Kelly (who had her funeral at the same time because the arch-bishop had come for it), but he said he looked into those coffins having never seen a dead child before.

I said, “Well, I looked into Dan’s coffin and saw a kid I’d known for two years. A kid I’d spent 14 hour Saturdays with at speech meets. A kid I loved. I taught Dylan Klebold, and by now, I think you’ve gotten to know me well enough to know that a kid doesn’t slip by me because I don’t care. You cannot judge us based on what you saw in the media. It was not accurate.”

He was truly contrite.

So I forgave him for castigating me unjustly and for not showing up on time and for being cruel. All I ask is that this hour of my time pay out in terms of genuine support in trying to get his son on track next year. Sometimes it does and sometimes it doesn’t.

Let summer vacation begin!

tags: education  parenting