Held After School

Sometimes we don't realize life-changing moments until much later.

“Dana, I'd like you to stay after class. I'm going to have the principal call your parents.”

The first day of kindergarten was just starting, and those were the first words out of the teacher's mouth after we were seated. Man, my education was off to a great start!

Now, before you try to imagine what went through the mind of a 5-year-old boy at that moment, let me explain. I'm the youngest of four siblings, two brothers, a sister and li'l ol' me, in that order. There's a difference of four years between my age and that of my sister. I had witnessed the wrath of my father directed at my brothers over trouble in school. It wasn't pretty. I had also had my small share of his disciplinary actions and as far as I was concerned, my life had just ended.

Our six-foot, four inch, two-hundred fifty pound dad had also told us to “be men,” (even my sister) so I fought back the tears while I waited for the pending apocalypse. If he caught me crying, the punishment would be even more severe. So, like the well-trained pup I was, I sat, red-faced, feet on the floor, forearms on my desk, wondering what I'd done wrong.

Please understand; this was a different world. Many of you may have a hard time comprehending the small-town American lifestyle in 1961. I'll just say that it wasn't all Leave it to Beaver and My Three Sons, though I'm sure that won't be helpful to many readers.

The clocked ticked, and eventually, the bell rang that released all of my friends, but not me. Not long after, Mom and the principal walked in. Dad couldn't take off work, which had been assumed by everyone involved. This was Mom's responsibility. She smiled at me as they went straight to the teacher's desk, without the slightest hint of anger on her face. That was somewhat confusing to my young mind, especially since she held a very rigid stance in facing the other two women.

The conversation was hushed, although I noticed the volume level of my mother's voice raise twice, and both times, it was apparent that she was telling them both, “No,” in no uncertain terms. The principal seemed put off, but my teacher seemed satisfied with whatever had taken place. Mom offered me her hand on the way out, I took it and we walked home together. She assured me as we left the school yard that I had never been in trouble. My mind was still reeling.

Back home at Coronado Courts, Mom assured me everything was fine and sent me out to play. Later, I would overhear another hushed conversation between my mother and my father, and although Dad wasn't in a particularly good mood after, the subject had been closed. Life was good, and there was only one thing my parents (Mom) asked of me: Stop reading the nursery rhymes written on the wallpaper in the classroom to the other students.

I had been reading for nearly a year before I was enrolled. My siblings and I had all been taught to read and write early. The family read together and we all enjoyed reading books of our own choosing. I never realized how much a love of literature would impact my life. I also had no idea how important the conversation between those three women had been and how grateful I would be for Mom standing her ground.

The principal had insisted that they needed to move me directly to the first grade. That had been her first “No.” The second had come when they suggested “the boy's father” should be consulted.

Academically, the change might have made sense. Consider this, however: Because of when my birthday fell, I had been required to start kindergarten at age five instead of age six. Not only would I have been in what they later termed “Accelerated Learning” classes, I would have been far less socially mature than the other students. I did enroll in a few accelerated classes much later, particularly English and art. Even so, I assure you I was socially immature enough in school without having been “bumped ahead.”

Here's the most important way that conversation at my school changed me, and I didn't realize it until much later. I never regarded women as “the weaker sex.” That notion never came into play and my mother would continue to prove it wrong for as long as she was with us.

She survived an abusive marriage and never let the young me see it. After an ugly divorce, she raised four children on her own. She often worked two jobs and sometimes three. There was only one later love interest for her, and he would be killed in a highway accident, on the very day she asked me how I would feel about her remarrying. I was there when she forgave the woman responsible for the accident. She went on.

Mom never needed a man, yet she raised three boys alongside her daughter and we all managed to become decent adults. I can vouch for the fact that we were more than a handful. My sister became just as strong as Mom, and is now making a living in the family business that she and her husband started, even though she lost him to cancer.

I'm a much better man because of a strong woman. One that I put through hell in my teen years. One who never gave up on me or my siblings. One that I miss every day.

Women of the world, I see you. I hear you. I support you, although I know you don't need a champion. Thank you for all you give.

***

Thanks for reading!