Fox Within

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Nicholas was an unusual student, one that no one could ever forget or want to remember.  Clever, he was a fox and just as devious. Nicholas had a "history" and would create more in his future, of that all were certain.

When he walked by with his mother as she pushed a stroller, Nicholas was normal compared to his mother and brother.
  
Mother was a ragged woman, worn out, face drawn and gray, a face that drooped.  Tattoos laced up and down her bone thin arms, even onto her brown stained fingers.  Little brother looked straight ahead with dim eyes, no sound or smile, with a flat face like a paper plate.

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Nicholas was as canny as a fox, eyes dashing from side to side, up and down, casing sidewalks and trees.  He focused on people and their eyes, and they immediately looked away. Something about his eyes pierced them as his next prey.

School Principal escorted Nicholas to his second grade classroom and handed him off to his teacher. He spoke a few words, almost in a whisper.  They both led Nicholas to his seat, in front row to the far right.  His desk was placed two feet away from students to his left and behind him.

First day, second day passed quietly.  Third day, all hell broke loose.  

It was hard to describe a whirlwind in a classroom where desks flew and students ran to back of classroom.  

Principal came running, scooping Nicholas up in a grip, while the boy screamed maniacally, biting and scratching.  The principal ran with the boy to the nurse's office, phoning his mother and psychiatrist.

Mother had forgotten Nicholas' medications that morning. Psychiatrist raced down to this school and administered meds himself.  What were they?  This, then that, and that, and more of this.  Finally, there was Lithium.

Fourth day, fifth day, weekend.  On the sixth day, Principal walked through second grade classrooms with a fourth grade girl, blonde and clearly shaken.  She gazed around the room and shook her head.  Principal saw Nicholas' seat was empty and caught Teacher's eyes.  She shrugged her shoulders as he nodded, understanding.

He was late, about eight minutes late, and when Nicholas swung open the door, he ran to his seat, hugging his backpack to his chest.  Fox eyes, darting side to side, a gleeful smile cut across his face.

Principal made another round with the girl, who pointed to Nicholas , nodding.  Yes that's him that's him!

Principal sauntered up to Nicholas, "Hey, how are you doing?" Just as casually, Principal opened the backpack and retrieved a steak knife. Replacing knife into backpack, he said, "Let's go talk about this..."

Apparently, Nicholas walked to and from school, following this girl and her friends.  Each day, he hissed, "I'm gonna kill you..." And this one day he ambushed her from his hiding place in a bush.  

Natural born killer

Straddling over her, he stabbed on one side and then the other of her face with a knife stolen from home. He laughed and howled "I'm gonna kill you..."

Friends ran to her, Nicholas stuffed the knife into his backpack, raced away.  

Cumulative folder and information shared that Nicholas' father was incarcerated in Astascadero Prison for the Violent and Criminally insane, and Mother had just been released from Los Angeles County Jail Division of Mentally Ill.  Nicholas had been diagnosed as bi-polar before he was seven.

What happened to Nicholas the Fox in the years that followed?

I don't know, sure wish I did. It has been 25 years since that time with Nicholas in my classroom.  If I saw him again, I would cross the street and hide.

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School's out for Summer!

The stampede

The last days of school are filled with stress on students and teachers alike.  For the teachers, it is a sprint to finish report cards, say "good-bye" to students, clean out classrooms, return texts to the library, and everything else.  It was truly a sprint, because all the tasks were a finish line that depleted teacher resources, both physical and emotional.

Hard on the students?  In what possible way could leaping into summer vacation be difficult? Daylight-filled soccer games with friends? Time to ride bikes through neighborhoods?  Eat watermelon?

That is a small percentage of student populations enjoying summer with those activities.

But the last percentage, summer is horrific.

These students live in small apartments, surrounded by relatives from Mexico.  There might be 20+ people sleeping on the floor, with children in corners on a blanket.   Postage size green play areas cannot accommodate all the children from those apartments.  Green grass is trampled to dirt. Parents take them to a park?

Really?

Parents are working two jobs.  Cleaning houses, picking produce, working as maids in hotels, and other low paying jobs.  Food?  Slim pickings there.  Who watches the little children?  The bigger children watch them.

Once school ends, so does the free breakfasts and lunches.  Students had come to school, having not eaten since the last school lunch.

Once school ends, a structured classroom, which provides friends and learning, disappear.

How to change these conditions?

Once school ends, students may move back to Mexico or out closer to the produce fields, where they can also pick strawberries, beans, melon, and just about every food product that they cannot have in their house. Side by side with their parents, students learn to pick quickly. Depending on the policies of the produce companies, students and their parents may or may not keep or eat some of the produce.

Those students, those precious students have tears in their eyes when they leave the school grounds.  And so does the teacher.***

***There are programs that provide free food, clothing, and activities, but not every family can access them.  

Wednesday Words: Sam Snail

His folks had forced Sam Snail to attend the class on snail safety, where posters covered the room:

“An Informed Snail is a Safe Snail!”

“It’s not dandruff, you idiot!  It’s salt!”

Source: Wikipedia

“A stupid snail becomes escargot!”

Mr. Goo

Mr. Goo, the oldest snail in the community, scanned the adolescent snails with his antennae.  “Listen up, you slimy slugs!”

The snails convulsed with laughter---the slug joke was an old one. Then all became quiet as the spectres of snails long gone before filled the room.

They whispered, “Grass is good.  Sidewalks are bad….” 

Then Mr. Goo shouted, “If you are ever besieged by a bunch of birds, then kiss your shells good-bye.”

Intervals of laughter and silence of doom broke up the rest of the day.  Finally, class was dismissed.

  

snail racing competition

Mr. Goo watched them in silence, Poor dumb Molluscan Gastropods! Half of them won’t even make it home.

Delores provides participants of the "Wednesday Words" with a variety of six words with which to play:  write prose, short fiction, non-fiction, poetry...Each week there is always a challenge.  To access participants, click on the train tracks in the right side-bar!

Passion of the Pearl: Letter P

Souce: namu project

The Letter P

Could it be perfume, pink, pandering, pancakes ...?

Strong to my traditional form, the letter P is for:
Pearl

Pearl harbored serious obsession here.

This Pearl is Great-Aunt Pearl, whom I knew only by reputation and photos. Grandmother Amy was the oldest of three sisters with the middle sister Grace and youngest sister Pearl. 

In 1911, Pearl was in high school, with all the expectations of any young woman in the early 1900s, which were basically marriage, children, and home.


But, OH, first came the tender innocent love, romance with its soft touches, shy kisses, sweet words...

In her English textbook, Pearl practiced writing her name, over and over.  Other pages were covered with doodles and sketches, dreamy sketches of young men.  
Even her perception of Hell expressed a passionate moment in her life.

This textbook must have been all over the classroom, passed from girl to girl.  Squelched giggles and hurried scribbles asked and answered questions.  Comments and questions (what did he say about me?...Certainly I know that YOU know!..Girls are made to flirt with men---But men with girls??  Oh! No!...) ***

 Pearl's dreams of romance were recorded for a great-niece to find:

The drawings and notes were found in History of English Literature by Reuben Post Halleck, M.A  (Yale), published by the American Book Company in 1900.

Pearl married shortly after graduation, at the age of eighteen or so.  The man she married was named Fred, who was rather plain and balding early, liked to fish, and was not greatly ambitious.  He was the very antithesis of the ideal heroic man of her dreams. 

On March 6, 1913, in a double wedding, Pearl married Fred Funk AND
her sister Grace married John Friend.

Whenever I asked my grandmother about her sister Pearl, she would sigh and say, "Oh, Pearl..."

I was an over-achiever.  I never did any of this.  Seriously.


Imagine what Pearl and her friends could have done with Smart Phones.

***Copied from the text book, written in pencil.

Now, what did YOU do during a high school class?  Be honest, now!

Samuel Faces the Enemy

Since his third birthday and the big blow-out-up party, Samuel sensed a shift in his world.  It was sudden and seemingly permanent.  Gone were the cavalier parenting practices advocated by Grammy and his mother.  Ignorance had been their blinders, and now the blinders were off.  Dang it all.  I thought the party to be a great success…

Nana gave Grammy and his parents a crash course in dealing with Samuel.  After all, Nana had raised five sons (his father being one of them), and reportedly all were varieties of Samuel.  So that’s why Uncle Henry and Uncle Dave are never here at Christmas…Joliet Prison…hmmm.

Samuel did not like the way the future was shaping up as he observed Nana from his hiding places.  Except there were no more hiding places; they were known to everyone. It used to be so easy.  They were more malleable in those days.  Oh, if only…

Samuel detected an undercurrent of something major in the snatches of whispers he caught while feigning nap time with his favorite dump truck.  “…it would be five mornings a week…too much for one person…small number of children…all my sons went there…juvenile hall…posting bail…”

The next morning in the car seat with the Father driving and Nana in attendance, Samuel tried to squelch his unease.  I just need more information.  Then I will work out my plans, lock ideas down…

The van stopped, and both adults grasped each of Samuel’s hands.  Firmly.  They approached the door and Nana punched the electronic entry button.  She whispered into a mic and the door whooshed open.  Another door.  Same thing.

Reaching their destination, the emblazoned sign over the complex read, Education for the Gifted and creative, Jones & Richland, LTD.

A woman greeted them kindly and Samuel gulped.  She could have been Nana’s twin.  Where am I?  Who is this woman?  What is happening?

For once in his life, Samuel felt the spiraling loss of domination.