Meet The Parents day was an event not too many teachers looked
forward to; nor could they escape or be excused from it. It required some
dressing for the part. At the end of the afternoon (or the evening, the
next day) session, the question, "How many parents did you meet?", fell
from everyone's lips. They hurried out the building thinking maybe it
wasn't worth the effort, wearing that jacket and tie, or that black
dress.
Asst. Principal Bob Darling had tried once to implement an everyday dress code
for teachers, something within the bounds of the college-professor look; at bare
minimum a jacket. It didn't catch on. It seemed once they got tenure many
teachers didn't care much how they dressed.
Principal Wamp privately bemoaned the absence of uniting colors and a uniting
spirit at John Wayne Cotter H.S. Students for the most part were more attentive
to fall and summer fashions (they had their 'Dress For Success' day but only a
handful of seniors showed any enthusiasm for that); and her staff looked on the
profession as more akin to a job in a sprawling old stone warehouse; a job that
demeaned them by requiring that they punch in a card on a time clock. They
dressed in a way that provided at least some comfort, some compensation for
the low salaries.
There were the usual mavericks in bizarre colors, jeans and sneakers; like Mrs.
Sciatti, responsible for school drama productions (last year she mounted a huge
production of "Evita" in collaboration with the music department, which went
down rather well). She favored braless ankle dresses and beads, straight out of
the 1960s. And Mr. McNulty who believed his US army fatigues would deter
trouble makers from starting anything on his floor; and, of course, Mrs.
Haliburton.
The crew from Westchester – Meier, Lightbody, Brebnor and Ghansam – was
always nattily attired. They wore jackets as a matter of course; it looked
better leaving home for a job at a Bronx high school in a jacket and tie.
For the meeting with parents the evening conference presented a problem. It
started at six thirty, about four hours after the end of classes; which meant four
hours of doing nothing; or finding something to do in the Bronx, since it made no
sense racing home to the suburbs and racing back.
Luckily for them the father of one of the students, Jaime Bravo, owned a pizza
place in the Bronx. They were welcome to hang out there, he assured them;
enjoy special service, courtesy of Jaime, and special prices, courtesy of Jaime's
father. It became their evening pre-conference ritual, going to the pizza place.
They reminded each other about it, waited for each other at the school
entrance.
Lightbody, the designated driver that evening, wore an elbow-padded jacket and
a tie designed with the Stars and Stripes.
"I see you're showing the flag tonight, Mr. Lightbody," Mr. Ghansam said,
squeezing into the back seat.
"Damn right, I am. It's going to be a long night. I had six parents yesterday. Six
parents. With weather like this I don't expect many more. Yes, I'm striking the
colors tonight."
"Hey, did any of you see Mr. Beltre yesterday? He's Jahmal Beltre's father,"
Brebnor said.
"I saw Mrs. Large…and I saw Mrs. Smalls…"
"This guy, they're from Jamaica, I feel really sorry for Jahmal, he's not going to
pass my class, that's for sure. Anyway, there I was trying to make it look like he
might just make it, if he got his act together. I mean, this guy is a pain in the
ass; no self-control, gives me no end of trouble. Anyway, there I was saying to
his father, Weell, he has a slim chance if he hands in the remaining assign-
ments. And Mr. Beltre's there, you know, nodding and shaking his head like he
understood what I was saying. Suddenly the guy stands up and…smack…he
lays a right hand across Jahmal's face…he's got these big hands, like sledge
hammer swinging hands, and he goes…smack…right across the face, sends
Jahmal sprawling off his chair…"
"You're kidding me!" Lightbody turned in his seat.
"…and then he turns to me and says, See here, teacher, now you can't do that,
cause you not allowed to, but I can do that. Don't worry, I'm going to straighten
this thing out."
"Probably went home and beat the manure out of the kid," Brebnor said.
"I sat there… I mean, I was stunned. I didn't know what to say."
"Well, fresh off the boat they keep coming, still searching for the American
dream…and bringing the old barbarous ways of dealing with problems,"
Lightbody said.
"These days they're coming off planes, Mr. Lightbody, not boats anymore," Mr.
Ghansam gave him a challenging grin.
"Well, now, thank you very much, Mr. Ghansam, for…shall we say… updating
my metaphor. I presume in your day you came off the boat."
"Mr. Lightbody, I'll have you know I arrived in this country by aircraft."
(from "Ah Mikhail, O Fidel", a novel by N.D.Williams, 2001)
FARJOURNEY CARIBBEAN 