“I can’t offer too much advice there,” Patty said, frowning. “I’ve never been a behavioral problem in school. You might want to ask Camille. She used to be a bit rowdy a few years back. There’s one thing I can tell you, though. Don’t ever let yourself be bullied by a teacher. Every teacher has to answer to somebody, whether it be the Assistant Principal, her colleagues, the Principal, the school board, or even the local community. They live in a glass jar, and as much as they want you to think that they are the kings and queens in their own little world, that’s rarely ever really the case. If you think you are right, then you should stand up for what you believe.”
I listened to Patty’s advice. For somebody that couldn’t offer “too much,” she said a mouthful.
The bell rang and I went off to my next class, wondering why Ms. Taylor seemed to hate me so much.
I entered English class with trepidation. Ms. Taylor glowered at me, but I was thankful that she didn’t say anything.
I wasn’t called upon to answer any questions in class, nor did I offer any kind of participation other than to take a pop quiz.
After the class ended, I remained in the classroom. I remembered how difficult Ms. Taylor became last Thursday when I insisted on taking off between the end of class and the beginning of detention. I didn’t want to add any fuel to the apparent fire within Ms. Taylor.
Unfortunately, Ms. Taylor was not to be so easily mollified. “Mr. Crittenhouse, let’s take a walk to the front office, shall we?”
I was taken aback by Ms. Taylor’s request. I simply nodded, and followed my teacher silently through the halls to the front office.
The receptionist looked at Ms. Taylor and me, and told Ms. Taylor that Stanley Yankovitz, the high school Principal, would be meeting us in his office in five minutes.
My teacher didn’t seem pleased. “Stan? I thought that…”
The receptionist cut her off. “Ms. Tomago is dealing with another problem with another teacher. I’ve taken the liberty of giving Mr. Yankovitz the information that you gave to Ms. Tomago.” She then turned to me and said, “You, Jim, can wait in Mr. Yankovitz’s office.”
“But Ms. Tomago…!”
Again, the receptionist interrupted Ms. Taylor. “Mr. Yankovitz will be here in five minutes, Reneé. He wants to see you before he sees the student.”
“OK,” Ms. Taylor said.
The receptionist gestured me toward Mr. Yankovitz’s office.
After I entered the room, I heard my mother’s voice. “Jim! What’s this I hear about you being on detention?”
“Mom?” I asked, confused. Parents were rarely notified during simple detention other than the optional fact that a student would be staying late and there might need to pick the student up instead of taking the bus. However, there were two intramural buses that circled the entire town about fifteen minutes after detention was over, so transportation was rarely an issue.
“The school called me today, and told me that you were being very disruptive! They said you even threatened somebody!”
I sighed. Things were definitely coming to a head, now. Ms. Taylor upped the ante. Now, there were actual accusations rather than the vague “disruption” complaint. Since I never threatened anybody—it wasn’t really my nature—I felt I was on better ground. I remembered Patty’s advice about not letting myself be bullied by a teacher.
“What do you know about this threat?” I asked my mother. “This is the first that I’ve heard this one. Last week, Ms. Taylor said I was being disruptive, but never explained what, exactly, I was doing that was upsetting her.”
“Jim, your teacher is serious!” my mother said. “According to her, you have been a severe behavioral problem, you’ve threatened another student, and she’s recommending suspension!”
“Suspension?” I asked, incredulously. “But I haven’t done anything! I’ve never threatened anybody!”
My mother looked me deeply in the eyes, and finally her look softened. “Look, Jim, I’m on your side. I trust you, and if you say you haven’t done anything, I’ll take you at your word.”
I felt better having my mother there. Together, we suffered in silence with verbal and sometimes physical harassment at the hands of my real father. If there was anybody who I could rely upon to be on my side in the face of unjust accusations, it was her.
I was bolstered by the presence of my mother, rather than being put on defense, which might have been the intention of whoever called her. The two of us waited for my teacher to arrive with the Principal.
The Principal, Stan Yankovitz, was a youngish man in his thirties, and usually walked around the school wearing a collared shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He was known to the kids as Mr. Yank, and it wasn’t a derogatory nickname. He had a reputation of being stern when necessary, but the word among the students was that he was also very fair. He was the complete and utter opposite of Ms. Tomago, the Assistant Principal who was a more elderly lady who always seemed to side with teachers during disputes, despite any evidence offered that a teacher might be mistaken.
Luck was certainly with me that day. Apparently, Ms. Taylor thought she set it up so I would be confronting Ms. Tomago. Instead, I got Mr. Yank.
My music teacher warned me that Ms. Taylor was out for my blood, but I never suspected that she would take things so far and so quickly.
I looked nervously at my mother, and took a few deep breaths. I closed my eyes and remembered Patty’s words of advice earlier that day. It actually made me feel better.
The five minutes that my mother and I spent together in that office weren’t spent talking, but in silent communication between my mother and me. I no longer saw the look of alarm at my possibly having threatened another student, but she still looked worried that my academic future might be in jeopardy. She wasn’t extremely confident that I would prevail, but she knew that I didn’t lie to her. Her trust in me made me feel a bit better. As I mentioned before, we suffered through unfair accusations in the past at the hands of my father, so we were both prepared for the worst. I believe that whatever she saw or read in my own expressions also helped bolster her confidence.
There was a quick knock on the door as the door opened. Mr. Yank and Ms. Taylor entered the office.
The Principal introduced himself and Ms. Taylor to my mother and me. I shook his hand and received a firm one back from him. Ms. Taylor didn’t offer her hand to me.
“Reneé tells me that you’ve been a disruptive influence in her class for a number of weeks,” Mr. Yank said, getting straight to the point. “She says that she put you on detention last week and you resisted immediately to the point of having another teacher berate her in front of her students. Finally, she says that on Friday, you threatened another student and she has evidence of that charge.” He turned to my teacher. “Is that a valid summary of what you’ve told me and Ms. Tomago?”
“Yes, Stan,” Ms. Taylor replied. “In fact, Ms. Tomago told me…”
“She’s unavailable right now, Reneé,” Mr. Yank answered softly. “OK, those are the charges as I have been able to discern them.”
“Charges?” my mother said, her face white.
The Principal sighed. “Please excuse me, Mrs. Crittenhouse…”
“Cummings,” my mother answered, automatically.
“Excuse me?”
“My last name is Cummings. I’ve remarried.”
“I’m very sorry,” Mr. Yank said. “This is all being pushed through so fast, not all the paperwork has reached me. Some of it is in the hands of my assistant…”
“Ms. Tomago should be here,” Ms. Taylor insisted. “She is very well acquainted with this case.”