“How are you doing today Scary?” asks Alice as I enter the classroom. “Are you getting excited about going home and being mainstreamed full-time?” Even though Alice knows what my home is like, she truly thinks I should be excited about returning home. I guess I am anxious, but I wouldn’t say I am excited.
“Yah, I guess I’m a little anxious about leaving here,” I sputter attempting to be civil while trying to get her to cool her jets.
“You deserve to go home Scary,” she maternally announces, “you’ve worked so hard.”
Alice always praises kids for working so hard, even if they’re real blow-offs. It’s hard for me to imagine anyone as gullible as Alice ever getting through the day, let alone reaching adulthood. She goes on exchanging pleasantries with each kid as they enter the classroom.
Not only does Alice always call me Scary, but she is obsessed with trying to figure out why I like being called Scary. Every once in a while she comes up with some lame pseudo-psychological reason why I’m called Scary.
One time she told me I like being called Scary because I’m afraid of others. Another time she told me that it’s my way of keeping people at a distance and that I’m afraid of human intimacy. My all time favorite was when she said it is my way of warning people that I’m different, and not to be shocked by my “unique sense of individuality.” Telling her the story behind my nickname did not stop her from coming up with new theories.
The actual story behind my being called Scary is rather simple. When I was young I use to go over and visit Jerry, my next door neighbor, almost every day. His little sister seeing me at the door would immediately call out “its Gary”, quickly and with a typical little girl lisp. “It’s Gary” would come out sounding like, “it’s Scary.”
Soon Jerry and his entire family began calling me Scary making fun of the little girl’s pronunciation of my name. By the end of third grade, everyone in the neighborhood and at my school called me Scary.
Alice’s English classes are a very strange experience. We spend more of our time “expressing ourselves” and “getting in touch with our feelings” than we ever do reading novels or conjugating verbs. Her classroom is more like going to camp than to school.
We sit around in “conversation circles” and talk about anything that comes to our minds. The books we are supposed to read are just excuses for Alice to have us explore this or that issue.
My English class with Alice consists of seven students, three girls and three other guys. If it wasn’t for the fact that all the girls in class were fourteen and under, the class might be kind of fun.
If some of the girls were my age or real babes it would be fun to use Alice’s relating sessions as an excuse to hug and fondle them. Yet, in this classroom, I feel like a prisoner to these giggling teeny-boppers who laugh at everything I say, and hang all over me.
Even the guys in the class are younger than me, making me feel real stupid when Alice forces me to talk about my feelings. It’s hard enough to talk about those kind of things with kids your own age who you like and trust, its almost impossible to talk about such things with little kids and girls who have a crush on you.
“Today’s topic,” Alice announces proudly, “is in how to say good-bye.”
No one in this class is a genius, but they all immediately know Alice is referring to my going home. Two of the girls turn their heads towards me and begin giggling, and one of the guys behind me sarcastically offers, “Ooo, feel the spotlight Scary.”
My whole body gets hot with embarrassment while my mind races trying to find a way out of this situation. Jesus, I couldn’t talk to these kids about how I really feel about going home. They wouldn’t understand, hell Alice wouldn’t understand.
“Often people never get a chance to say how they really feel about a person who for one reason or another is leaving their life,” Alice continues.
At this point my embarrassment turns into pure panic. Within moments these grisly little kids were going to be encouraged by Alice to say a lot of gushy stupid things to me. These silly little girls are going to say how much they are going to miss me, and I’ll be expected to be kind and say I’ll miss them too.
If I tell them I’ll miss them, I’ll feel like a liar and a fool. If I say nothing, or I won’t miss them, I’ll feel like a cold and cruel monster.
I don’t have much time, for Alice is almost through giving her literary examples of people regretting not saying good-bye or expressing their hidden love. She’s gone the gambit from Cyrano to Miles Standish, and now is heading into her own personal experiences.
My leaving Park Grove academy might be a big event for me, but leaving this group of people will not be difficult. Sure I’ll miss Frank and Jeanine, and a couple of the guys, but I’ll keep in contact with them.
My going home is not like I’m leaving the country or dying, but try telling that to Alice, who is comparing my departure to the death of her estranged father.
“Scary,” says Alice sounding like she is about to offer up a toast, “I’ve only known you for a year or so, but you have had quite an impact on my life. Your sense of humor and creativity have not only provided much energy to my classroom, but have helped me gain a better understanding of what the kids in my classes like and dislike.”
Alice’s testimonial is bad enough, but soon she’ll be asking the kids in the class to add their sentiments. I need to do something, and I need to do it quickly. I guess I could stall things off a little and make a few jokes, but that won’t prevent the inevitable.
“I remember the first day you were in my class when you told me the only important thing to know about Shakespeare was that he was dead… ” That wasn’t even the first day, I was here over two weeks before we were supposed to read Romeo and Juliet.
Christ, I don’t want to listen to all this. I guess I need to speak now, and speak long. Maybe if I filibuster I can get out of this thing alive.
“…your thoughts about Romeo and Juliet were different, but were interesting insights,” she rambles on.
Frantically I search for an opening, a way to respond to her sappy little story. I guess I could just start talking about how stupid Shakespeare’s plays are, or how our parents wouldn’t want us to read this shit if they knew what he was talking about. Yet, I still vainly searched for a way to break in, a way to get the damn microphone out of Alice’s hands.
Suddenly, as if God himself is listening to my most fervent pleas for help, the school secretary appears at the door. For a moment at least Alice’s speech is being interrupted. Maybe Alice is being told some additional information regarding Scott. Whatever they’re talking about I hope it lasts a long time.
“Scary,” Alice calls to me, “Len would like to talk to you.”
“You mean now?” I respond not yet believing I could be so lucky.
“Yes,” she says, her voice full of resignation and disappointment. “Maybe, we’ll all get a chance to say good-bye a little later.” Turning towards the kids Alice adds, “Say good-bye to Gary, you never know if you’ll get a chance later.”
A couple of the girls stand up to give me a hug as I prepare to leave. The guys all slap hands with me and say things like “stay cool” and “catch ya later man.” Though I think this is totally ridiculous I calmly say my good-byes as earnestly as I can.
What is all this melodrama for? After all I still have a week left living on campus. Even after that they still will see me once a week for the next couple of months.
Yet, maybe if I truly look sincere in my farewells, Alice will not use another class period for this. Hell, if I could be assured that this little exit could accomplish that, I’d even throw in a little speech at the door.
Odds are Alice will not let me off so easy, and tomorrow’s class will start where we’re leaving off. My visit with Len might also last two minutes, and I might be thrown right back into this nightmare.
At the door Alice gives me one of her more schmaltzy stares and follows that with a big hug. “You’re very special” she says while clinging to me, “get back to class as quickly as you can.”
“I will,” I say preferring to respond to the second part of her statement. Peeling myself away from Alice I follow the secretary down to Len’s office.
Len is the school principal at Park Grove. He is this short stocky guy with a high pitched voice. Approaching his office, I can hear him talking on the telephone. Len is always talking, either he’s all excited yelling at you, or he’s trying to be your friend.
“Come in,” he responds to my knock on the door with the customary lilt in his voice.
Len smiles and waves as he turns towards me with the phone receiver pinched between his head and left shoulder. “Okay that sounds good,” he says as he motions me to sit down.
“I’ll get back to you tomorrow,” he says finishing up. “Sure I’ll remember. Don’t forget we got racquetball on Tuesday.”
Len always mixes business with pleasure. I don’t think there is a single peer or supervisor in the county with whom he doesn’t socialize. He’ll play tennis, volleyball and bowl all in the same evening before ending it at some function at the country club.
“How you doing buddy?” Len asks while hanging up the receiver. “Things are cool,”
“Well, I wish I could say the same here,” Len says, typically attempting to sound harried. “Well, Buddy, I hope you like surprises.”
“Depends on the surprise,” I respond anxiously.
“There’s been a change in your schedule…”
“I’m not stuck here another nine weeks,” I interrupt, expecting the worse.
“No, not at all Buddy. In fact, you’re going home a little sooner,” he says while reaching over and patting me on the shoulder.
Len has always called me and every other kid on this campus Buddy, but right now I despise this habit. “What do you mean sooner?” I punch out angrily.
“Don’t worry Buddy,” Len adds still smiling, “this is actually something every kid here would die for.”
Len’s secretary buzzes him and informs him he has a call. As Len gets on the phone, I can’t help but remember all the stupid things he has done to me during my stay here.
First, he had lost a whole semester’s credits of mine, and made me take courses I had already aced. Four months later when he found out his mistake, he tried to blame me for not remembering what courses I had taken.
I had told Len on a number of occasions what I had taken. He never listened, for he didn’t believe I actually had those credits. This blunder by Len almost caused me to miss graduating with my class, but he came up with some hairbrained way to get credits off of the duplicate courses I took (more to save his ass than mine).
“Sorry Buddy,” Len announces getting off the phone, “I gotta run over to the administration building a couple of minutes. I’ll be right back.”
As usual, Len’s bounding out of one disaster right towards another. He leaves, without offering any additional information. All I can do now is sit, worry, and wait for his return. I’ll bet any amount of money that Len is being called over to the Ad building to clear up some other mess he’s caused.
I guess that’s why Len is always on the run, for if he stood still someone would be sure to strangle the idiot. His work day consists of bounding from one crisis to another, and from what I can tell his personal life is just as frantic and twice as chaotic. Why would anyone trust a man who’s had three divorces by age forty with educating low functioning kids?
His blunder with my credits is just one mistake of many. He once canceled my cab without telling me, causing me to miss school and almost lose my job. My first day back at my home school he gave me the wrong schedule, making me miss my first class. Not only that, but I had to serve two detentions for his mistake. He even told me the wrong date my school was having soccer try outs.
God, Len is such a jerk! What he’s done to me is nothing compared to the horror stories others here could tell.
Yet, what I need to do now, is calm down. Maybe Len was right, maybe he had good news. At least I am here in Len’s office and not in Alice’s room.
Alice is a real trip though. I remember one time she handed out a mimeographed list of topics to do an oral report on. On the blurred handout the topic of gun control, looked like gum control. I, therefore, took advantage of the situation and did a hilarious report on gum control.
I stood up in front of the class and talked of how hypocritical it was for a country which prides itself on free speech to tolerate “gum control”. Since speech originates with one’s mouth, I reasoned, having freedom to do what we want with our mouths should be highly protected. Therefore, refusing to allow students to chew gum in class was in gross violation of our right to free speech.
Within minutes I had the class laughing and whistling, and supporting my views as if I were running for office. As the speech progressed it took on the feel and character of a religious revival meeting, with each of my impassioned opinions meeting with an escalated response by my classmates.
My speech included little “true to life” scenes of teachers, employers and parents practicing gum control on children. I treated these scenes like they were short plays acting out all the adult and kid parts.
Each short tragedy was followed by my explaining how gum control was indicative of our country’s hypocritical view of freedom. Through a range of examples I tried to demonstrate how adults squash their children’s quest for true free speech, just as their desire for freedom had been squelched by their elders.
When I finished my speech, Alice, instead of reprimanding me for such foolishness, complimented me on my originality. Instead of pointing out how I had manipulated and avoided doing the assignment, she focused on how much emotional power it conveyed. She described my speech as “inventive”, “entertaining”, and “moving”, while I would have described it as “ridiculous”, “absurd” and “pure bullshit”.
She not only praised my speech, as if I had seriously believed in what I was saying, but said my argument was quite convincing. Not only did she take my phony speech seriously, but she said we could start chewing gum in her class.
Most teachers would be insulted and upset by such a blatant lampooning of their assignment. Alice though, wasn’t the least bit angry, but pleased with the “amount of effort” I put into my speech.
I guess on some level I prefer Alice’s gullible and open minded response to my speech than those teachers who would have punished me for my sense of humor. If I did the same thing with Frank or Jeanine, they would laugh at my speech and praise me for my creativity, but make me re-do the assignment. If I were the teacher, I’d make me re-do the speech too, for even though I’d think the speech was cool, I’d also want the kid to show some real effort.
Most adults I know are either suckers or have no sense of humor. Most adults have no sense of humor and get all over me every time I make a joke or have a good time. Some adults, like Alice, try so hard to be my friend, that they allow me to manipulate and make fun of them all the time.
Frank and Jeanine, on the other hand, let me have fun, but still push me to do my best. They’re cool, but they won’t let me be a total blow-off.
Alice’s support of people is so unrealistic that it almost seems insincere. If she weren’t such a space case, no one would believe her for a minute. At Park Grove Alice’s name is synonymous with being a space ace. On campus when a kid is sucking up to you, or telling you to do something quite risky, you tell them, “Don’t Alice me”, or “don’t pull an Alice”.
If Len doesn’t show up soon, I’m going to miss my taxi to Willow High. Missing Alice’s class is no big deal, but if I miss my taxi, I’m out a whole day of school. No way is some stupid talk with Len worth a couple of days of detentions.
I don’t know what he means when he says there is something wrong with my schedule, but I’m sure I’ll get further in solving it by talking to someone at Willow than with Len. Hell, when you let Len handle a problem it only gets worse or more confusing.
I’ve learned not to get real excited when Len says there’s a problem or he’s all set to push the panic button. The man makes everything into this huge ordeal and his reactions cause more problems than his lack of organization.
With Len the best thing to do is stay calm and not get sucked in to his chaos. No matter how bad things really are, they’re not half as bad as what Len’s over excitement will make them.
The way Len’s mind works, there’s a good chance he’s even forgotten that I’m waiting for him. I remember one time I sat here in this office for over an hour waiting for him to return from a minor emergency in one of the classrooms.
After getting bored of counting and recounting every hole in the ceiling, I went out to ask his secretary what was taking Len so long. She replied that she had no idea I was in his office, and that Len had left the campus over twenty minutes ago to attend a meeting. The idiot had forgotten all about me and had gone directly from Jack’s classroom to some local high school.
I better go talk to the secretary, for no way am I going to sit in here all day long. She’s kind of strange and quiet, but usually pretty helpful.
“Ms. Grayson,” I begin respectfully, “do you have any idea when Len is returning?”
“Hmmm,” turning away from her electronic typewriter she notes, “he should have been back by now.”
“Well he said he needed to talk to me about my schedule,” I say as calmly as possible, “but I need to catch my cab to Willow.”
“Let me give him a buzz over at the office,” she consoles while picking up the phone.
All things considered, I really don’t mind being taken to and from school in a taxi cab. Pulling up at Willow in a cab is pretty cool. It makes you look kind of important rather than like some kind of retard like you do in the little yellow busses. All through junior high when I was in those “self-contained” classrooms I was picked up by one of those little cheese busses as the other kids called them.
Kids always made fun of you whenever you got off or on one of those busses. No wonder so many of the kids in self-contained programs skipped school. If you’re flunking school anyway why would anyone set themselves up to be ridiculed for having to go to school in one of those toy busses?
Any kid who somehow ended up in the self-contained section of the school would surely lose any remaining interest they had in going to school, or getting a real education. A real education, I might add, is something a kid in Special Ed. is never offered. We’re offered ways to act like goons, or be treated like we have the mental capacity of an earthworm, but we’re never given an opportunity to truly learn anything.
In Special Ed. classrooms I was actually hassled more when I tried or learned things than when I loafed. Hell, we were all expected to be stupid and lazy, no Special Ed. teacher was actually prepared how to deal with a kid who actually was learning something.
Whenever one of us “learning disability” morons began to produce good work, we only irritated all the professionals who had diagnosed us as having “poor short term memory”, an “attention deficit disorder”, or some other such nonsense such as “minimal brain dysfunction”.
“Len will be right back.” Ms. Grayson announces while hanging up the phone, “He said not to worry about the cab…he’ll take you.”
Jesus that’s all I need. Having Len take me to school is even worse than showing up on a cheese bus. Might as well just stamp my head, “Beware, in institution”.
“Thanks,” I mumble, “I’ll just wait in his office.”
Len is one of the worst at treating us like we’re mental rejects who can never learn our own names. I remember the first staffing I had with Frank in my corner.
Usually I wasn’t allowed to attend these staffings, but Frank and Jeanine insisted that I be present to understand what it would take for me to graduate on time. Walking in to the room was like walking into a wax museum.
On one side of the table sat Len, Frank, Ms. Maynor the school psychologist at Park Grove and Ms. Weiss the program director of the entire campus. On the other side sat a whole slew of administrators from Willow High I had never met. All faces were expressionless and cold except for Frank and Ms. Maynor who were smiling at me.
Throughout the entire meeting all these people, most of whom I had never actually talked to, went on talking about my “academic situation”, like I wasn’t even there. They reviewed this test score and that psychological profile to support their views that I was a hopeless cause as a student.
After about ten minutes or so, Frank began to ask specific questions about areas I was behind in academically. Len responded that my “academic deficiencies” were “rather complex” and some other bullshit about them expanding over many “concept areas”. Frank who prides himself as being quite a teacher pressed for some specific skills in Math, English and Science which were in need of improvement.
Though Len and the others at the table were reluctant to discuss specifics, Frank kept pushing for a list of “specific skills” that were deficient. Len finally came clean, and gave Frank a list of my weak spots. He pointed out that my verbal skills were actually above normal for my age, but my written and “cognition” skills were well below average.
As Len reeled off a list of my academic shortcomings, Frank began writing them down. Len’s eyes were on fire as he stopped naming off my academic frailties and asked Frank what he was doing. He replied that he was making a list so that he could help me by focusing on those topic areas in the home.
Len stopped the meeting for a second and asked me to wait in his office for a few minutes. He told me some one would come and get me when they approached the topic of my graduation.
Since Len’s office and the meeting room shared a common wall, I was able to eavesdrop on the meeting as it proceeded. Len told Frank that my deficiencies were much more complicated than he understood, and that any assistance Frank were to offer would most likely harm or hinder my improvement.
In defense of this view Len stated that many of the skills being named laid outside my scope of ability and any further effort to have me learn those skills would only frustrate me and squash my self-esteem. Those weaker skills which I was able to catch up on, Len stated, were already being tended to, and any additional assistance would only confuse me, or inhibit my progress. He defended this last assessment by stating how my specific “learning disabilities” necessitate that I do not receive more than one teaching approach at a time.
Well any way, I think you get the idea. All of us kids here are supposed to be stupid. We’re supposedly just as handicapped as someone in a wheel chair, and God forbid that anyone should try and help us walk. Unless they were “professionals” who truly understood our “therapy” their interference could only harm our unlikely chances of ever walking again.
If you ask me, these professionals are just covering their ass and their own incompetence by claiming to have “privileged” knowledge of the kids in their care.
Hell, I’m not stupid. I’m smarter than most of the kids I know, and have been able to learn anything I really wanted to know. I just got started on the wrong foot, and tell people exactly what I think. I’ll cop to the fact that I’m the classic under-achiever and that I’m selfish and lazy, but I ain’t stupid or slow.
When I’m in a classroom with teachers like Jack and Alice I have a hard time believing they have anything to teach me. Jack’s so goofy and absent minded, and Alice is such a space cadet, and neither of them can teach without an answer book. Most of the other teachers I’ve had, have been no better.
They’re all threatened when a student asks a question, or asks them why we need to know this stuff. Their personal lives are straight out of daytime television, and they’ve usually got no sense of humor. My God, what good has their education done them? They don’t even look like they enjoy their lives, why would I want to learn that?
Who am I to talk? What do I know? I guess everyone’s a little lost. I just wish people were more honest about not knowing anything. It shocked the hell out of me the first time Frank told me he didn’t know the answer to a question I asked him.
Hell, people in these kind of places always act like they know all the answers. The psychologists and teachers always act like they know everything about you, down to why you think and feel all that you do.
“Hey Buddy,” Len proclaims as he bustles his way into the room, “sorry to make you wait.”
“Does my school know I’m going to be late?”
“You’ve been a hot topic this morning, pal,” Len says smiling like an idiot, “they’re all waiting for you.”
Len loves having information you don’t. He’ll milk this moment for all it is worth. Knowing this, I take a deep breath and try to wait patiently for Len to come out with his news.
“As you know you’re scheduled to be fully mainstreamed at Willow at the end of the grading period,” Len pauses as if he was readying to give a punch line. “Well you are.” Len says, smiling broadly at a private joke I was somehow missing.
“The only change is that your school’s grading period ends this Friday, not next Friday like ours.”
“You mean tomorrow’s the end of the grading period?” I bark out in panic. “How could you not know that until now?”
“Hey Buddy,” he sternly counters, “you’re the one who goes to the school. How could you not know when your grading period ends?”
Choosing not to debate this point with the jerk I ask, “What about my cab schedule, what about my going home?”
“What do you think I’ve been doing all morning?” Len smugly replies. “Trust me Buddy. Don’t we always take care of you?”
I’d have plenty to say if that was actually a question. Jesus, can’t they ever get anything straight around here? “I got a six page paper due tomorrow that I thought I still had a week to complete.”
“Scary, Scary, relax Buddy, I’ll make sure your teachers give you a little slack due to the confusion.” Len reaching over and gripping my shoulder adds, “look at the bright side, you’re going home a week early.”
What do these people think my home is, screwing Paradise? My mom needs as much time to prepare for me, as I do for her. There’s no way she’s going to look at this as good news. It’s not that she doesn’t want me home, but having me around changes her whole schedule.
“This is completely crazy,” I stammer in disbelief. “There’s no way this is going to work.”
“Well, let’s drive over to Willow and show you how it will work.” Len says taking out his car keys. While walking to his car, Len adds, “these things happen, it’s no big deal.”
In his creepy life maybe this stuff happens, but not in mine. Leaving here is confusing enough without Len having to complicate things in his typical bungling style. Damn, just when you think you got things in order, you always got some air head to take away your plans.
I have a week left, and even though I haven’t thanked or said much to Frank and Jeanine or the guys, I was planning on it. Now I won’t be able to say anything before I go. Sure I’ll be here once a week for awhile, but Thursday evenings are pretty hectic and a difficult time to catch Frank and Jeanine alone.
“Len,” I begin, struggling to stay composed.
“What Buddy?” he responds while once again placing his hand on my shoulder.
“Can we just listen to some music while driving over to Willow? I don’t feel much like talking.”
“Good idea. Once you get over the shock, I think you’ll like the new plan,” Len rationalizes as he opens the door.
“Fat chance,” I think to myself. Now I need to dream awhile to get away from all this.