The Seed Program

Light shone on the dining room table could pass for a boardroom table. Jabar Kelson looked his wife in the eye and then returned to his digital work.

“Stop.” He continued. “You don’t know what you’re doing,” Marla remarked with a hint of sterness in her voice.

“I won’t and I do,” he replied.

“J, if you cut yourself from donating to that school, Lane and Kitts won’t be attending under the same auspices,” she contended.“They’ll be thrown to an out of state college.”

“That’s precisely why I’m doing this. Well, one of the reasons. The main—”

“There’s a simple purpose for all this? Please, say more,” Marla interrupted.

“As I was saying before I was so rudely cut off by my lovely wife, this is a message.”

“For what? To whom? The board already receives eight billion dollars in endowments. The majority are from alumni outside the state of Delaware. If you want to send a message to NSU, you’re going to have to stir up enough dust and not just cancel your subscription.”

“I’m the largest donor that school has ever had. I’ve put more backsides in lecture hall seats than a hit musical producer. This is about principle.”

“The principle is that the dean, provost, and president will no longer schmooze with you at school gatherings.”

“Am I going to fret about them not licking my boots and sucking my kneecaps?”

“I know, honey, but—” Marla started.

“This ends at this moment as I digitally sign this document. It is a seed.” With a few swipes, he had completed the undoing of his donations to New Sweden University.

“If we are to have our children taught the right things the right way, I can no longer support an institution that rails against my ideals. Left, right, or center, the school has become a cesspool for piss poor ideas.”

“You’re going to regret what you just did. Our kids are going to be mocked and pigeonholed. They’ll be screamed at and ridiculed. This will make the news.”

“That’s good. The news part, anyway. I want it to do that. It should do that. If we’re going to change education to be fully privatized in this country, we have to start with the top.”

Marla handed her husband some ginger ale.

“I know your stomach gets upset when you get all worked up.”

“Thanks, but I’ve got some gin as you can see,” he jangled the ice cubes in the glass like the tinkling of wind chimes. “I’ll mix them.”

“We’ve the means. Look at this house, the yacht, the artwork, the portfolio. We live a hundred times better than the people who make up this state. How are you going to account for that, J?”

“Easily. By showing that a private model where government interference in the minds of young people from pre-K to postdoc should be halted. Reins should be in the hands of actual teachers who will get paid handsomely. Goddamn those bastards who sneer and giggle about how the dropout rate never affects their bottom line. No, I will not be contributing to that disaster they call a university any more.”

Marla looked down in her hands and snatched her husband’s gin and ginger.

“I swear that you’re the most stubborn man I ever knew. That’s probably why I married you,” she sipped.

“I married you to do what you’re doing now,” Kelson replied. “You throw punch after punch. They don’t land, but I admire you for even stepping into the ring.”

“So, is this some crusade? You’re going to tell all your billionaire friends to stop sending money to their alma maters?”

“Yes.”

“And then what?”

“We will step back and watch as the ideas flow from private schools and still allow for Communists, fascists, and socialists to drudge through life on their own disgusting property. The schools that preach capitalism will be able to thrive and engender both material and spiritual values.”

“I see.”

“So, this is the first step. We’ve got to get those cretins the hell out of there. I mean they have to be cleared in order for young people to flourish.”

“You’ve won with that. I lift my glass,” Marla said.