Circumstances 37

On Monday, I had lunch with Darryl again, as was usual now, and discovered both of us were a little more relaxed with each other.  We knew each other better.  I liked his personality, and wished I had one so there was something he could like about me.

We both had English right after lunch, and I was feeling some excited anticipation, wondering what Mrs. Gallagher had thought about my essay and what grade she’d given me, and knowing I’d find out pretty soon.  I knew Darryl had written his because I’d seen him hand it in on Friday.  So, instead of fidgeting because I was wondering about Mrs. Gallagher, I took the opportunity to ask him what he’d written about.  “The last I knew, it was about me lying naked on someone’s lawn with a group of hooligans holding me down and staring at me.”

“Well, yeah, that would have made a great paper, I could have made it really interesting, but somebody said I shouldn’t, so I wrote about something else.”

“What?”

“Are you going to tell me what you wrote about?”

“No!”  I couldn’t do that.  It would sound so childish.

“Well, then I shouldn’t either, but since I’m a lot braver than you are, I will.”  He gave me a smile, showing he was kidding, and I couldn’t help but smile back.

“You could probably figure it out anyway.  I wrote about choosing better friends, ones that shared my interests and philosophies and would be walking down the same path in life I’d be on.”

“You wrote that, the walking on life’s path bit?”

“Yeah.  I thought it sounded poetic, or at least sort of literary.  English teachers always go bat-shit for literary.”

“Damn!  I wanted to have the best paper, but yours might be better.”

“I usually gets A’s in English.”  He took a quick glance and me, probably wondering if I found that smug or offensive, and I gave him a grin to show I didn’t.  Actually, I liked what he’d said.  I liked kids who were bright; I felt I related to them better than the ones who had no interest at all in academics.  He saw the grin, his face relaxed and he said, “We’ll know what we got in a few minutes.  I’ll tell you my grade if you tell me yours.”

I laughed, and said, “I’ve heard that worded a little differently.”

He laughed too, and his eyes sparkled.  “Well, that too.”

Crap!  I didn’t know what he meant by that, either!  This was the second double entendre he’d thrown at me.  One thing I did know now was how to answer Gary’s question about whether he was smart.

We finished lunch and went to English.  All our essays were stacked on Mrs. Gallagher’s desk.  She always had us put a cover sheet on our essays.  She’d then write the grade on the inside of that coversheet, and include any comments she wanted to make.  That sheet allowed her to make our grades private, and also prevented me from seeing what the kid whose paper was on top of the pile had written about.

Mrs. Gallagher told us for the most part they were very good papers.  Some kids had just made up things to complete the assignment, but most had really thought about it and worked hard.  She said she’d pass them back and then ask for volunteers to read their papers to the class.

 I got my paper and lifted the cover page just enough to see under it.  What I saw was, A+, and one word, underlined twice: Outstanding!

I glanced over at Darryl, who sat across the room from me.  He was still looking at his paper.  She must have written a lot more on his than on mine.

When everyone had their papers, she stood in front of the class and asked, “Who’ll volunteer to read their paper?  These were very good, and many of the ideas were things that might benefit you all.  Who’ll share?”

Was she kidding?  Who was going to stand in front of a class, many of whom were semi-strangers, and announce what was wrong with him?  Especially if you were 14!

No one volunteered.  Big surprise!

So, she picked up a list on her desk and said, “These were the best papers, and the ones you’d all benefit from hearing.  I’ll just call on you individually and you can volunteer then.  OK, first off: Keith.”

Oh shit!  She couldn’t mean it, could she?  She expected me to get up in front of these kids and tell them I was planning to stand up for myself from now on?  She had to be crazy!

I just sat there looking at her.

“Keith?” she repeated.  “Please come up here and read your paper.”

I stood up, but I wasn’t going anywhere.  If she called on us, she liked us on our feet when we responded.  She said it was more dignified that way.  More exposed is what I called it.

I had to get out of this.  Come on, brain, I told myself.  Don’t let me down now; think!

“Mrs. Gallagher, uh, you said we could volunteer.  And then you called me by name to come up there and read my paper.  Well, I can’t volunteer if you’ve already volunteered me. That isn’t me volunteering.  And volunteering means I’m agreeing to do this, and I don’t agree.”

I said that all in one breath, so I had to stop to breathe.  I did.  Then I said, “This paper was personal, and I shouldn’t—no one should—be forced to read something like that to the class.”

She was watching me closely, looking at my face and into my eyes.  She thought for a moment, then asked, “So, you’re refusing to do what I asked?”

Why I had an answer for that right off the bat, I don’t know.  If it had been Mrs. Bowerman, I wouldn't have.  I’d have been intimidated; all brain activity would have frozen, and I’d have been a zombie.  But I liked and to some extent trusted Mrs. Gallagher.  This didn’t seem like a confrontation as much as it did a discussion.  She was looking at me intently, and I realized she was gauging my reactions.  I suddenly thought, she won’t push me further than I can tolerate.  Somehow, as I looked into her eyes, I just understood, right then, that she wouldn't do that.  Knowing that made answering easier.

“I didn’t refuse.  I just told you I didn’t think it was either right or proper to  force us to reveal things if we don’t want to about ourselves that are personal and weren’t written for public consumption.  If you had told us you were making that part of the assignment, I’m sure a lot of us would have written our essays much differently.  We trusted you with this, I’m sure a lot of us poured out things we aren’t comfortable with other people knowing.  Forcing us to read these will be a violation of that trust.”

She was still watching me intently, and because I was watching her just as closely, I saw a very small smile on the corners of her lips.  Then it was gone.

“All right.  You made some very good points there.  I hadn’t really considered all that.  You’re right.  I won’t force anyone to read their paper who doesn’t want to.  That was well said, Keith.”

I nodded and sat down, and it was only then I realized what she’d done.  She’d given me a chance to do what I said I was going to try to do in my paper.  And the chance to do it had been in front of a bunch of my peers in a way that would probably make them thankful I’d spoken up.

Man, I loved having a teacher like that, one who was on my side, one who wanted to help all they could.  I didn’t have many of those; most of them were just there for me to deal with the best I could, but I sure had one.  Mrs. Gallagher.